USS Bonaventure--2319 ACT 1, Suffer the Child
by Illusionna
Summary: A revolving group of gamers have been telling the story of the crew of the USS Bonaventure. In the final days of the classic, burgundy uniforms in the 23rd century, the predecessor ship to the Galaxy Class has just launched on the eve of the Cardassian's occupation of Bajor. Space cowboys still reign and the tales of the Lost Years of Star Trek are being written. Join us.
1. Prelude

**A/N: This is an ongoing project, that welcomes new players to join. Contact Scott Vanhorne at cpvanhorne at yahoo dot com**

 **"2319" USS BONAVENTURE "Suffer The Child" - Prelude Pt.1**

 **By Scott Vanhorne**

One Year Ago... Summer of 2301 AD

Starfleet Headquarters, Main Executive Compound, Top Garden Level

The day was so full of sun and warm air, that Jas VanHorne thanked all of his lucky stars (and there had been many) that today on the veranda of the Starfleet Headquarters top level viewing garden, he could take a moment to breathe in the ocean air…admire the delicate silhouette of the woman he'd grown to love in all her simplicity…and marvel at how amazingly at ease she was with a child…this alien, feral and amazing child. A stowaway, and stuck with them aboard his ship….and finally with the capacity to breathe free and easily…

The doctors had never quite seen a Klingon up close before. The requests to have Azette examined were rebuffed by VanHorne at first, that is until she scraped her knee on the gangplank coming home, and as Rachel wiped away lavender blood that wouldn't seem to coagulate, did they acquiesce and finally agree that perhaps one of Starfleet's most revered physicians…the only one to be tasked with treating the wounds of their longest adversary, finally be given a chance to see if the child's health could be successfully nurtured.

"She's a strong youngin', that's for sure. She could probably beat up a mule in a fair fight." The old southern Doc had told them, in a private check-up facility in the Presidio. Though the slender, aging physician added, "She'll probably adapt to Earth weather and gravity climate just fun. And I've given you both a list of fruits and vegetables that will likely make her sick, so watch out for those. She can eat whatever the hell meat she wants, and always err on the side of fiber if she ever gets constipated."

Rachel furiously take note of all the Docs recommendations, making a point to let Jas know that Azette was very much her responsibility too. Jas's eyes opened wide when the old physician prescribed the following beverage for her….

"Prune juice?" he asked, oddly.

"It helps the digestive system, and it has an enzyme in it very close to what Klingons run on. Good for the blood. Ask her to try it." He suggested, snapping close his old leather tricorder case, and putting the thumb scanner away.

"If you insist…" Jas had relented. Oddly enough, after giving her some to try the next day, Azette seemed to love the drink, baffling her new parents.

As VanHorne prepared himself finally to give over the codes to his beloved _Bonaventure_ , he scanned through the list of requisitions he had made, and finding them completely contrary to what he had requested, he left the side of his young family, and returned to the office of Starfleet's new Vulcan Commander in Chief.

Walking through the door with a feeling of everything he'd worked toward being ripped from him, he tried to regulate his breathing, as his sudden entrance had caught the eye of the topmost Admiral in the Fleet, and Vorek tilted a head to one side to acknowledge his subordinate's presence.

"Sir, I…." VanHorne began.

" _Rear_ Admiral VanHorne," Said Vorek, without the least bit of emotion. Though typical of Vulcans, Jas had found him, somehow….more personable.

"I went through my recommendations for the Taurus Expedition. Sir…they can't go out there like this. Three capital ships, a small merchant contingent. That's just not going to be up to speed for their needs." VanHorne thumbed through the list of ships; the _Bonaventure_ , _Repulse_ , _Sentinel_ , their crew compliment, supplies, lists of every sort.

"I remember giving my first command away to some younger men who'd never had capital ship duty before. Yes, I thought they needed training wheels too. But I assure you….they will be fine. If they remember their training."

VanHorne could feel his pulse rising, "Sir, they are competent men. I wouldn't have suggested them to run such an operation, but …. You've cut in half the ship assignments, the support tenders, the staff, the acquisition list, the ….everything! They'll be ….undermanned. According to what I'm reading they'll not have use of the—"

"Admiral," Vorek said unhappily; "I appreciate your lofty appraisal of what you think the Taurus Expedition needs, but there are limits. We cannot have what we want on a whim."

VanHorne could feel his control slipping away, the Vulcan he'd admired suddenly becoming….indifferent to his wishes, "This isn't a whim. I've budgeted for every eventuality, and the task fleet will simply not be able to get the job done if you slash their resources like this."

Vorek shrugged, allowing his assistant to adjust his newly tailored dress uniform. Something about Vorek's face seemed….lopsided, somehow… "If that's your opinion of these men's capacity…."

VanHorne held up a palm; "It's not. Savion's the best engineer I've ever worked with. K'rilish is the stuff strong commanders are made of. O'Dag's proven himself in ship command and emergencies dozens of times."

"Then I would trust them."

"Not like this. They don't know the layout of the territory. They'd have no idea how to adapt to the region. I've been there. It's been 20 years, but—"

"Then you lead the expedition. Because Starfleet simply cannot afford to give you more capital ships nor can we allot more merchant support.:"

"My family…we…"

"You have a choice. Lead this expedition yourself, if you feel your experience will balance out what you consider them to need. But you'll have the three capital ships, the current merchant contingent, and that is all I'm prepared to authorize at this time."

With that, the former Captain of the _Bonaventure_ turned on his heal, and with the weight of the universe once again upon his shoulders, began to calculate bad scenarios to determine the least painful one . . .

Apartment 8701, Haight Ashbury Vista Terrace...

The small apartment felt impossible smaller, as VanHorne placed both his hands on Rachel's shoulders,

"Rachel, I'm leading the Taurus Expedition."

Rachel shook her head, barely adjusted from being pulled from her yoga class; "That's O'Dag's mission. Why are you getting involved?"

VanHorne straightened, "I have to. They're being sent out without proper ships and support."

Rachel folded her arms disapprovingly; "And you think your presence, micro managing them will make a difference?"

VanHorne, with a stiff upper lip, nodded, "Yes. Yes, I do."

Azette could be heard playing with the wooden sailing ships that Jas had purchased for her, and she splashed around happily in the large bath just a few rooms down. Rachel walked forward to tend to her, as dotting and as nurturing as anyone VanHorne had ever seen. The lesson plans, the meals, the field trip outings, the constant activities, sports, dance, lessons in other languages….he could see her trying to make sense of Jas' new directive, though she never broke her stride with the child;

"Who do you think you are, Jas? Captain Cook?"

VanHorne followed her into the hallway, and past the painting on the wall of one of his heroes, which he poked a thumb at, "No. I'm more like Captain Bligh. They may not have liked Bligh when they put him out on a longboat, but he sure as hell got them 3,200 nautical miles back to friendly harbour with two weeks of rations and on the verge of capsizing."

Rachel urged Azette out of the bath, and covered the youngster with a huge, fluffy towel, and began to dry the wild mop of sandy blonde curly hair that surrounded her brow ridge; "Yes, your hero, as you're so fond of telling me. He wasn't exactly portrayed very sympathetically."

VanHorne rushed to make sure they had additional towels from the closet (since the sonic shower had been traded in for a conventional one, according to a recommendation from Rachel's mother); "I may not be either. But the truth about both of us is that we're doing the best we can do without a lot of resources, and damn what anybody thinks. My experience bears out that I'm their best chance for survival."

Rachel's voice became soft as she started to brush Azette's hair; "And you'll be taking us with you?"

Jas watched Azette's big eyes look up at him, as if she was finally realizing that her new parents were discussing her fate.

Jas thought of the dangers in front of his old crew and the hundreds in their charge…the families, the lives….and those lives simply numerically outweighed the two in front of him. He knew they would be fine without him here on Earth, but…. There was a chance that the men who had been with him on so many journeys would not. They needed him. He took a deep breath before saying; "Negative. You'll stay on Earth until I return."

Rachel began to tear, though Azette didn't appear to understand the reaction, "Jas…we need you. Azette needs a father. I need you. The climate here for children….Klingon children….Jas, they hate people like her. I don't even like taking her out with me."

"You'll be fine on the Academy and Presidio grounds. This is San Francisco, after all."

"Jas, no….your…..you've got to let go. Let them do this. The _Bonaventure's_ not your ship anymore."

VanHorne turned away from them, and jammed a fist into the wall; "Those men will die in space without me. I'm going."

Rachel could feel helplessness and rage creep into her, as those words echoed in the hallway; "Azette….you don't even care about her. You only care about yourself, your constant adventure. They don't want you there. They can handle this fine, we need you here. Why are you doing this to us?"

VanHorne approached the exit, to put distance between him and the women he was hurting…

"Because it has to be done."


	2. For Want of a Nail

**For Want of a Nail pt 1**

 **by Illusionna**

 _ **IKS M'Char**_

 **High orbit above** _ **K'etzokl**_

For want of a nail, the horseshoe was lost.

For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.

For want of a horse, the rider was lost.

For want of a rider, the message was lost.

For want of a message, the battle was lost.

For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

-Anonymous

The stern faced Klingon woman, her brow ridges beginning as a wave at her temples, to crest as a small double peak near the center of her forehead, looked at the projected image in the middle of the room with chocolate brown eyes. Her tall, sinewy frame belied the strength that lay beneath it Luscious sandy coloured curls cascaded down her back, past her small chest, to her thin waist. Her her long, bronze fingers clasped behind her back gave her a deceptively demure appearance, but those who knew her knew that she was anything but.

The blue and green orb swathed with downy white that twirled on the projector was a beautiful planet when viewed from space. As it turned, its horizon coming into view, its single Federation outpost dawned, traversing the screen. She tracked it with her eyes until it disappeared as the holographic sphere continued to rotate. It reminded her of another planet she'd approached, many years ago, watching it from the window. Unlike the one in front of her now, that one had slowly grown in size as they'd approached it, and her heart had beat quick in her chest in excitement. Her mother, standing with her, had warmed her bare shoulders with her hands upon them, and she could still see the two of them reflected in the transparent aluminum.

The door opened and a male warrior the same age as she, in the prime of their lives, came into the Captain's Chamber. Her calm evaporated, being squeezed out with the tightening of her chest. It was excitement that made her heart beat now, she told herself. Excitement at coming action, at the entering of the young man into the room. She was not nervous, no. Children were nervous, the two of them were long past fear and anxiety, despite the smell of it in the room. He walked up to her as she turned only her chocolate brown eyes in his direction and he stroked a curl from her shoulder. She smiled a little, it felt good to be caressed. The feel of warmth on her shoulder, bare from the space made to expose it for ease of movement without her shoulder cop for protection, again made the image of the reflection of a girl and her mother in the window come to mind. Unconsciously, she leaned into his touch, the rest of her arm cold in comparison. She so wanted the physical contact. She hated herself for wanting it. Only the weak wanted. The strong obtained.

"This will be an easy victory," he said, his deep, rumbling voice slurred slightly from his prominent teeth. His brow ridges swept out from his eyebrows up the sides of his forehead, disappearing into his hairline. Four gentle waves adorned the center of his forehead, each 'v' shrinking in size like a ripple in the water as they worked their way toward his nose. His wide shoulders looked as if they could handle a bat'leth with ease. As his hand moved from her shoulder, he nodded to the planet as if looking for confirmation from it.

"It will," she agreed. "Too easy. I do not think that we can complete the mission as planned." She finally turned to him, looking him in the his blue eyes, bright against his bronze skin.

He shook his head, "I agree." He was silent a moment, regarding her, a strand of her curly hair still in his fingers. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making his lips stick out even more, before continuing. "It will have to wait."

"We will attack the settlement and the outpost at the same time," she said. "That way, neither one has time to come to the other's aid." Her voice sounded already victorious, utter confidence in it as she spoke. It was a fact, nothing more, nothing less.

"The settlements defences should be minimal," he added. "Especially with a military post nearby. The double envelopment will shatter their flanks. Their supply lines will be choked by our perpetual orbital bombardments. The battle will be short, and planet will belong to the Klingon Empire." He smiled. "Father was pleased with our last victory. That should make you happy."

She raised her head haughtily. The thought of the ailing old man, sitting on a comfortable chair in a warm room, surrounded by servants and kinsmen on Q'onoS, filled her with disgust. Looking her companion straight in his eyes, she said, "When you have a seat on the Council, Tanag, then I will be happy."

His smile widened, showing his large teeth, maliciousness edging the corners of his lips. "Until then, we must be happy gaining planets for the Empire," Tanag replied, turning once more to the holographic planet in front of them. "This victory will make the Council take notice of the House of Lam'akh. It will give my father great honour."

"And even old warriors need new honour," she said, her smile turning sly. Though the honour coming from ones sons was a sorry way to gain it, indeed. Her own father, practically exiled and killed by his own crewmates, men and women who were closer to him than kin, had died valiantly. While he had not the honour to die on the battlefield against the enemy, he had held himself at even higher standard. He had died at the hands of his crew, a mutiny, his faith and love of those around him paid back with deceit and guile. His own people had ousted his memory, called him a brigand, a knave, but she knew better. She knew the truth.

Her fingers grazed the horseshoe that hung at her hip on a chained girdle. Unlike the gentle wave of her mind's eye of her reflection as a girl in the window of the ship, the memory of the horseshoe crashed over her.

 _She looked at the rifle dubiously. "Are you sure this is how cowboys still do it?"_

" _This is exactly how cowboys do it," he answered, voice barely above a whisper._

" _This is how cowboys in the ancient west did it," she replied under her breath._

 _Her father looked down at her. "Do you think it was easy to catch prey?"_

 _She raised her eyebrows. They disappeared within her ridged forehead. "Catching prey that is easy isn't worth it." Even she knew that._

" _That why cowboys still hunt like this." Her father's voice drifted away as he pointed to a muscalid head that popped up from the ground. "Think you can get it?"_

 _She glared at him, a loving glare to a parent that the child knows isn't the brightest bulb in the box, because no parents are. They get smarter as they grow older, but children know every well they can do things—and she was no different in that respect._

 _She took aim, the rifle steady in her hand. She let out a breath, just as her father had taught her, and gently squeezed her index finger on the trigger of the replica antique gun. The resounding bang hurt her ears, causing them to ring, but the head of the woodchuck cracked backwards causing it to comme half way out of the hole and lie motionless on the ground._

 _All pretense of calm was gone. The girl jumped up, sandy hair flying, and whooped with a wide smile on her face. Ignoring her father, she ran toward her prize, ready to perform some great hunting ritual, because everyone knew that when a warrior defeated an enemy, even a woodchuck, there_ _ **had**_ _to be some sort of ritual, despite the fact she didn't know what it could be._

 _Something caught her foot at the toes, grabbing her hard, and causing her fall to the ground. The gun went flying as she let it go to catch herself so she didn't fall on her face. She twisted her body, a growl at her throat, ready to tear at whomever had the gall to grab her, and saw only her father walking up to her, smiling broadly. "Good shot!"_

 _Looking down at her foot, she saw a curved piece of metal under the toes of her boot. She grabbed it, it was much heavier than she expected, and swung her arm to throw it at a tree angrily._

" _No!" her father said, running up to her. He squatted down, putting his hand on her arm. His skin was pale compared to hers, the fingers thick and calloused with use. A scar on his hand, a war wound, she_ _ **knew**_ _, traced from his middle finger to his wrist. ""A horseshoe found you!"_

 _She held it up in front of her face. "Horses have shoes?"_

" _They do," her father said, standing up. He held his hand out to her, and she grabbed it. He hoisted her up easily, and it made her feel warm inside, to know she had such a strong, capable father. "And when they come off and find you, it is good luck."_

 _Again, she looked at him dubiously._

" _Very good luck," he said, pointing to her kill. "You are one lucky little girl."_

Tanag laughed, turning to her once again and taking her in his arms. "Oh yes, Azette. They do."

Azette of the house of Lameh'k

Captain of the _M'Char_

Tanag, son of Lameh'k

Captain of the Norag

HoD of the Bat'leh Squadron


	3. Enro Jaxa Pt 1

**A/N this is an ongoing project, that welcomes new players to join. Contact Scott VanHorne at cpvanhorne at yahoo dot com**

 **2319 ACT 1 "Suffer the Child" Enro Jaxa pt. 1**

 **by Scott VanHorne**

 **Bajor**

 **Janitza Village, Dahkur Province, Lower Hemisphere**

 **Late Summer, 2319**

"Enro! It's nearly time for our night meal!" Came the cry. Over the rolling hills, Sito's pleasant voice could turn into a messo-soprano shout over the hills. The farm birds were the first to hear her, and loud squawking was the first response to the curvy lady who owned the farm house. Enro looked on at his flock of fanged geese, their heads bobbing as they were poised to take flight. He wondered if he could catch up with them Hesitantly, he got near, and only startled back when the fronto-geese showed their cackles. They could seriously injure a Bajoran, and as they extended their wings to the full meter span, Enro broke into a wide grin, and started after them. He could feel the wind whipping up around him and through the lush orchard as they began flapping their wings and running toward Sito's voice…and the promise of cracked desert grains…

Enro kept one hand on his belt, and as he run his tunic pants were at risk of falling down. Through the field he ran parallel with the front-gesse, them now gliding over him as he raced underneath, past the berry fields, and over the streams where he would watch them frolic and play. The ground beneath was uneven, so he had to maneuver quickly and nimbly to avoid falling into a tumble like he had done so many times before. He didn't want Sito to get mad, or she might give him less than 3 full spoonfuls of the rich, aromatic broth that he loved so much. As he raced the geese, he kept his mind on that first spoonful or golden soup—the taste of the Kai's own basil leaves from her garden, the bonnet peppers that grew in the valley below, all cooking in a massive metal pot from smelted ores that were blessed by the Founders themselves…. His mind was on all of this as his foot caught a makron-rat hole, and his 2 meter, stocky frame went into a fall…..

The geese continued on in their flight toward the farmhouse, completely unconcerned with the oaf as he turned into a humanoid ball, and rolled to an ungraceful halt, just 10 meters from the dwelling where his sisters were preparing the meal. It was night time, and they had only been awake for half a cycle; with second sleep so far off, Enro knew he couldn't risk coming in dirty and broken because he'd stumbled through the garden and gotten himself dirty again….

As he stopped tumbling, he found himself flat on his back, in a tuft of grass, staring up at the orange-ish blue sky, watching the razor hawks circling, as they often did, when on the hunt for his farm birds. With the geese pro-occupied with Seto's corn, he knew they'd be undefended, though he knew if anything should stir, he'd come back out at once, wildly waving his long coat around, and pretending he was a bird himself. He was good at pretending he was a bird. He was good at very many things…

"What are you doing, Enro?!" The young Tasho said from behind him. The boy had dark skin, dark brown hair, and a large, shiny ear lobe ring that glistened in the sun. He was only 11, and enjoyed hunting the razor hawks with his slingshot. He laughed at Enro who struggled to right himself, now covered in dead grass and leaves.

"I'm…." Enro started, but then hesitated again. He hated when the boys picked on him, and he found that it happened most often when he tried to explain himself. Going back to mute, Enro picked himself up off the ground, and looked sheepish at Tasho before slyly turning back to the farmhouse to follow where the geese were already greedily gobbling up the grain.

"Sito's going to be mad if you bring mud into her dwelling, Enro!" Tasho had a sly smile on his face, as he knew this was another great opportunity to get Enro in trouble. Enro was 6'2, and though outweighing the boy two to one, he shrunk back in fear at the mere thought of making the lady of the house angry.

He stuttered, almost fearful as the next words came out…. "M-mud…" he said vacantly.

"You shouldn't go into the farmhouse tonight, Enro!" Tasho said, enjoying the confusion and misery now crossing over Enro's face. Enro hadn't yet earned the family distinction of the lobe ring; something reserved for those who had taken the commitment to the Kai by swimming in the waters of the Rakantha river. Enro wanted to belong so badly, but….

"You should sleep in the orchard tonight, Enro." The younger by said. At once, Enro's growling belly grew louder, and having not eaten for two days, this prospect was not very appealing, yet watching from afar, Enro was reminded at once that he wished desperately for Sito's approval. Perhaps by tomorrow when the animals were lead to the drinking spring, he would have an opportunity to make himself presentable again. But not before.

Enro looked sadly back at the orchard, where the trees had begun to turn purple, and the promise at least of fresh nectar fruits would sustain him while he found a comfortable patch to sleep, nestled amongst the briars, and the occasional footstomps of the prey animals who came to enjoy the low slung, rotting fruits. They were at least his friends, he told himself, contended with what had become his home, after being lost and out of place for so long . . .


	4. The Wine Glass

**A/N: We are active role playing group, so if you'd like to join us on the USS Bonaventure, please contact Scott at cpvanhorne at yahoo dot com**

 **The Wine Glass**

 **by Lowell Boston**

 **StarDate 2319 - Prime Directive Bureau Archives: File 3X1999Alpha-Prime**

 **Designation: Classified - Level X**

 **Edge of Federation Space**

 **Personal Log Entry: Marcus Jas O'Dag: Subspace up-load:**

\- PLAYING - ...

[A face fills the frame with intense blue-eyes. Its pallor is pale, and covered with dirt, grime and dried blood]

" _ **Zilch!**_ \- ... I'm ... I'm uploading this to the last subspace relay. I hope someone finds this file."

The face takes a moment to collect its thoughts. "Owen is dead. He bought us some time, but the Klingons have found us - _**Ch-zzz-Ch!**_ \- Admiral K'rilish forces are engaging - _ **Qzzz-Tc!."**_

A tremor of distortion goes through the footage before it's restored.

"I'm passing through the last seal into the final quarantine chamber. Marie is somewhere ahead of me - _**Zilch!"**_

[The image swirls to reveal a low ceiling rock hewed chamber. Water drips from numerous sources. The footage pushes forward, creating a hand-held camera view. Aged skeleton corpses lays on the ground. The camera tracks over them.

 _ **BOOM ... Ba-BOOM!**_

"Holy ... that was close! The bombing's begun. I see a light up ahead – _**Ch-zzz-Ch!**_ \- It's blue! Marie, wait for me! - "

[The camera jumps and lurches forward as the cameraman runs down the tunnel. Something that loosk like an ancient service bot

lays twitching on the ground in a shower of sparks and leaking lubricant fluids. Ahead the walls, floor and ceiling of the low tunnel are bathed in a cerulean light. The passage widens into a gigantic chamber, round with a height that looms into darkness. A woman is spotted meters ahead, kneeling on the ground. She turns as the camera approaches revealing a face similar to the cameraman's. Intense blue eyes look into the lens with a face matted with dirty red hair. Her left arm clutches a right that is bruised and bent at a wrong angle.]

"I've found him ... he's here, Marcus. HE'S HERE!"

[With a painful look she hooks her chin towards the light source before them. The camera swirls, and pauses as the operator makes adjustments to the camera feed's exposure and settings. The image changes from an over-bleached blue to a normal aspect. The chamber is revealed to be a high ceiling domed chamber. At its center a humanoid figure stands floating meters above the ground.]

"FATHER! ... "

[The rushing camera approaches closer an angles upward. The figure, churning, blue coruscating light in the template of a man, cranes its head downward toward the camera. A featureless face is revealed save for a pair of eyes. Stars are seen within.]

"Father, don't do this! You're destroying the system. Everything!"

[Somehow the eyes smile.]

/ **MARCUS ...** \\\

"Father, I found the file you left for us. I ... I don't understand. The glass, and the wine ... "

[The being of energy nods. Chain lightning erupts from his body and scales upward.]

/ **GLASS BREAKS ...** \\\

" ... the wine remains ... " [whispered the cameraman in and incredulous voice. The being above nods again. From behind the woman is heard to scream.

"Marcus, the Klingons!"

[Sounds of phaser and disruptor fire is exchanged off screen. The camera remains focused on the energy being.

"Father, DON'T do this! You're destroying all of us. You're threatening existence itself!"

[The being's eyes smile wider. Its head glances up as it lifts its arms.]

/ **YES. IS IT NOT ... WONDERFUL...** \\\

[Energy explodes outward from the being. A wall of seething energy rushes towards the camera.]

"FATHER! - _**Zilch!**_ "

\- End Recording -

 **File verification: Pending. Investigating Officer Lt. Marcus Wade.**

 **StarDate 2319 - Prime Directive Bureau Archives: File 3X1999Alpha-Prime**

 **Designation: Classified. Level X**


	5. Do As I Say, Not As I Do pt 1

_**We are an active group, if you'd like to get in on the action, contact cpvanhorne**_

 _ **Do As I Say, Not As I Do pt. 1**_

 _ **by Paul B**_

 _ **USS Bonaventure**_ **, NCC-1745-C**

 **Orbital Docking Facility**

 **Terra Nova Shipyards**

 **2319**

 _OFF: Shortly before the events of Scott's post Pt20; "Everything New is Old Again"_

 _ON:_

Often times, trouble does happen at three o'clock in the morning on a Sunday when one least expects it.

That was what Captain Sarat Bannerjee thought as he pulled the flap of his maroon jacket closed. He looked to his yeoman who was holding out a cup for coffee for him to take. Like him, she still showed signs of sleep on her face.

"When did he get here?"

"Fifteen minutes ago, Sir."

"Bloody hell," Bannerjee mumbled with his clipped Oxford accent. He took the cup of coffee and he left his quarters. Rounding the corner of the doorway he nearly collided into a stack of storage containers. Hot coffee slopped over the edge of the cup and onto his hand.

"I thought I ordered those to be moved to storage!" he yelled. He shook the hot coffee from his hand. That was going to leave a mark.

"I'll get right on it, Sir," the yeoman said.

"That's the least of our worries," Bannerjee said. He walked around another pile of containers toward the turbolift.

Waiting inside the car was Lieutenant Commander Itanya Romanov. The _Bonaventure-C's_ chief tactical officer seemed more composed than both Bannerjee and the yeoman.

"If I may say so, Captain, I warned you that this may happen," she said.

"Blunt as usual, Romanov," Bannerjee answered. "Where is he at now?"

"Forward torpedo compartment, port launcher."

"That figures," Bannerjee said. He took a sip of coffee and he handed it back to the yeoman. "Why didn't he send a damn notice? We could have prepared the ship for his arrival."

"That's not his style," Itanya said.

Bannerjee looked at this third officer and he saw the slight smile on the Russian's face. "We're all in this together, Commander. Don't forget that."

"Of course," Itanya said. She smiled wider. "It's just been a long time. Pardon the excitement on my part, Sir."

"None taken, Commander," Bannerjee answered. He looked around the new turbolift that moved not only faster than those of current Federation starships, but quieter. "I cannot deny those of you who served on the last name bearer. Where is Commander Vril?"

"Holding the bridge, Sir. He knew the Admiral would proceed with inspecting the weapons and, so he is rushing to get the rest of the ship in order as quickly as possible."

"And _quietly_ ," Bannerjee said. He finally smiled. "Good. Vril may spare us a terrible dressing down."

The lift slowed, and the doors opened. The corridors on the lower decks of the new _Ambassador_ class starship were more reminiscent of the current ships of the line. Here, they were narrower and the dull brushed duranium plating on the bulkheads, was present.

Still, there were touches of the innovative design style the _Ambassador_ class was ushering into to the fleet. Computer panels were installed at key points along the corridor to allow personnel to access ship systems. They were an additional convenience for engineering technicians who no longer had to carry tricorders everywhere. Exposed bulkheads and support trusses were reduced giving the ship a less military like appearance.

A marvel. That was what Bannerjee thought of the _Bonaventure-C_ , the second of the _Ambassador_ class starships. He was still proud to have taken command of her, but like any new ship of the line she was far from gracing the stars as a fully capable starship. Her systems were so new that the bulk of his crew were still in training, and there were a plethora of the usual bugs and headaches that plagued every new vessel.

And not only that, the _Bonaventure_ was _huge_. Topping in at over five hundred meters in length and nine hundred meters wide from nacelle to nacelle, she already boasted a crew compliment of seven hundred that could be expanded to one thousand. Compared to the _Excelsior_ class starships, she was a behemoth.

But despite her size, the _Bonaventure_ was a platform that was going to bring the Federation and Starfleet back to its roots of peace, diplomacy and exploration. She boasted more science laboratories than any other starship, and to back her role as a diplomacy ship, she also had something most other starships did not have; suites for dignitaries and conference rooms where careful negotiations could take place. The _Bonaventure_ was a fully self-sufficient space station that could go anywhere for as long as necessary.

 _If we could get it to work properly_ , Bannerjee thought.

He ran his hands over his jet-black hair as he stepped out of the lift and he started down the corridor. He looked over his shoulder to Itanya.

"Has there been any word from Starfleet Engineering regarding the warp drive?"

Seeing the concerned look on Bannerjee's face, Itanya shook her head. "None. They say that they are still working on it and we need to be patient."

"And there has been nothing from Commander Probert?"

"He's running models, but nothing yet. He used the word 'flummoxed'."

Bannerjee sighed. "And he is supposed to be the best chief engineer around."

He reached the doors that led into the port torpedo launcher compartment. Dismissing the yeoman, who seemed relieved, Bannerjee motioned at Itanya to follow him inside. The two stepped into the compartment.

A Vulcan female was standing just outside the doorway as they entered. She bore the rank of a commander and she stood in the formal at-ease position with her legs apart and her hands behind her back. She had the distinctive Vulcan hair-cut, and although she seemed diminutive by Vulcan standards, she had a look to her that seemed severe and lacking patience.

Because the _Bonaventure_ was his ship, Bannerjee did not need to address the commander. He started to walk past her when she stepped forward with the intention of stopping him.

"Are you Captain Bannerjee?" she asked. She raised her left eyebrow.

Annoyed, Bannerjee nodded. "Yes. Who are you?" He made sure it did not sound like a question.

"I am Commander Pilar. I am the adjutant to Admiral K'rilish," The Vulcan said. "I must inquire as to why the _Bonaventure's_ transporters were not functioning, Captain? We had to use a shuttlecraft as a means of conveyance."

Bannerjee looked at Itanya and he gave her a "can you believe this is happening" a look. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "The transporters were part of a planned maintenance cycle and they were taken down this early in the morning to minimize any inconvenience to the crew."

"The maintenance schedule was not updated to all Starfleet installations on Terra Nova," Pilar said. She tilted her head to one side. "Your operations officer was insufficient in this regard."

It took a lot to make Bannerjee angry, but Pilar was doing an excellent job of testing his patience. He made the point of stepping past her.

"Thank you, Commander, I will take note of that. Where is the Admiral?"

"He is on the inspection platform," Pilar answered. As if she were some functionary to a king, she stepped back and she extended her hand as if permitting Bannerjee to proceed.

Giving Pilar a sidelong stare Bannerjee headed for the ladder attached to the mammoth launcher.

"Who was that, Itanya?" he whispered.

"I've heard about her," Itanya said. "Keep in mind I haven't seen the Admiral in over ten years, but I heard she was assigned to him when he was made Commodore before the Tomed Incident. She obviously followed him over to Starfleet Tactical."

"Was K'rilish always like this?" Bannerjee said. He fumbled for a word to match his thoughts. "Rude?"

"I wouldn't say rude, just that he has a way of doing things," Itanya explained. She followed Bannerjee up the ladder.

The ladder let up to a railed catwalk that ran along the port launcher. As Bannerjee climbed up the ladder, he heard a gruff voice. It sounded not at all pleasant.

"The coils of this unit were designed for a maximum charge yield of two-point seven terahertz per coil. You have a variation between zero point one and two terahertz. Why is this?"

Bannerjee walked around the corner to where he saw Lieutenant Selerax, the duty officer in charge of the forward torpedo compartment looking rattled. The Edosian, with its trademark three arms and legs was bobbing its head from its elongated neck in a form of stress. It was looking toward a side compartment from which the angry voice was coming.

"The coils were re-installed yesterday, Sir. We were planning on calibrating them tomorrow..err…this morning," Selerax said.

"Why were they re-installed? I signed off on them personally and they were set to factory specifications."

Not wanting to see his officer shaken, Bannerjee stepped forward and he raised his voice. "That's because of pilot error, Admiral."

Admiral K'rilish emerged from the compartment. Having only seen him on holovids, Bannerjee had to step back to give the Caitian room. He had brown and tan fur, and a left eye that was amber in colour. The right eye was nothing but a pupil-less silver orb; a cybernetic replacement. He had let the fur grow from his chin to form a goatee of sorts; the grey fur at the tips the only signs of aging.

He wore the suede field jacket in place of the usual maroon jacket, and around his waist was an engineer's work belt complete with tools and a clip for a tricorder. That tricorder was in his hand and it was opened.

 _Blasted, bloody hell_ , Bannerjee thought. _He had come aboard not for the usual short inspection like the other admirals. This one was getting his paws dirty._

K'rilish squinted at Bannerjee and his lionlike ears perked. "Pilot error?" he asked.

Itanya had warned Bannerjee that K'rilish had the terrible knack of returning an answer with a question. "Yes," he said. "A flight jock decided he didn't want to wait in line with the other supply vessels and, so he tried to cut in line. He struck a work bee and nearly killed the pilot. Both survived, thankfully, but the coils were thrown about in the supply hold of the shuttle. We had to install them first to ensure the calibrations were on spec with the power drivers of the launcher."

In a move that, again, pressed Bannerjee's patience, K'rilish looked past him to where Itanya was standing. "Is this true, Itanya?"

Clearly unnerved that her captain's explanation needed her verification, Itanya shook her head in response. "Yes, Admiral."

K'rilish slapped the tricorder shut and he brushed past Bannerjee and out onto the catwalk of the launcher. He looked down into the compartment below.

"Pilar!"

The Vulcan appeared quickly. "Yes, Admiral?"

"Why wasn't I given the accident report concerning the delivery of my coils?"

 _My_ coils. Bannerjee felt his jaw crack as the muscles tensed. He looked at Itanya who gave a helpless shrug.

"The reports are sent from the operations officer, Admiral, but because you had not been placed in charge of the preparations at that time they were clearly not delivered to your office." Pilar said.

"So, I was left out of the loop?" K'rilish asked.

"It would appear so, Admiral. That would be the responsibility of Admiral Jakobies office."

K'rilish's tail began to swish from side to side and he flicked his ears with annoyance. "Jakobies," he growled.

Feeling that he had enforce his stature as the _Bonaventure's_ captain, Bannerjee spoke. "Admiral Jakobies probably did not want to trouble you with something that he knew we could handle here on the _Bonaventure_ , Admiral. Commander Romanov had the situation perfectly under…."

The sound of a claw tapping the metal safety rail of the catwalk interrupted Bannerjee. K'rilish looked over his shoulder at him.

"I know what Commander Romanov is capable of doing, Captain. The issue of interdepartmental communications within Starfleet Command need not worry you."

"As the head of Starfleet Engineering, Admiral Jakobies is the one in charge of preparing the _Bonaventure_ ," Bannerjee responded. "You only sign off on the defensive systems. Maybe you should take this spat up with him so I may get _my_ ship in order?"

Nearby, Itanya gave a soft gasp but Bannerjee held his composure. He could care less about the stories he heard about K'rilish or what he did during the Tomed Incident. He had come aboard his ship as if he owned it, and Bannerjee was damned if he was going to be sidelined like a junior officer. He lifted his head as the Caitian turned slowly to him.

With a loud slap he closed the tricorder and he placed it in the pocket of his tool belt.

"Admiral Jakobies responsibilities regarding the _Bonaventure-C_ have been reassigned to me by the CinC," K'rilish said.

Bannerjee's eyes widen. "When, Sir?"

"One hour ago," K'rilish answered.

"It's…unusual that the head of tactical would be placed in the supervision of readying a starship especially one as sophisticated as the _Bonaventure_ ," Bannerjee said. "These systems…they're new. We can't just rush…"

"You have forty-eight hours," K'rilish said. He headed for the ladder. "I will continue my personal inspection without any hindrance from your crew. I will expect to be granted full access for me and my adjutant."

"What is in forty-eight hours?" Bannerjee said. He walked over to ladder and he looked down at K'rilish.

In a move a junior officer or specialist would do, K'rilish pushed himself off the ladder and he jumped onto his feet on the deck with a thud. He gestured at Pilar who fell in behind him.

"I will summon you to my office on Terra Nova when I am satisfied with my inspection, Captain."

And like that K'rilish was gone. Bannerjee watched as the doors closed to the compartment before he turned to Itanya.

"What the bloody hell just happened?"

"I've seen him like that before and that was when the _Sentinel_ wasn't ready when we left for the Taurus Reach," Itanya explained. "All that I can say is if he got orders from above he is going to do everything to carry them out."

"So, complaining to Starfleet Command is out of the question," Bannerjee said. He shook his head. "I'll be honest with you, Commander. I don't like him, and I don't care for him coming aboard my ship as if he owns it."

"Then you should tell him that."

"Whatever for, Commander?"

"Because he will respect you for being honest." Itanya answered. "Besides, I think your comment about interdepartmental communications was a good start."

Bannerjee laughed. "You must be joking. I thought he was going to have me dismissed for saying that."

Itanya frowned. "He may still do that, but not for speaking your mind," she explained. "All that I can say, Sir, is that K'rilish won't lie to you once he has finished his inspections and made whatever decision he needs to make."

That was little consolation for Bannerjee whose tenure on the _Bonaventure-C_ had been only four weeks. At the very least there were starship captains who had even briefer commands.

He headed for the ladder with the intention on finding the nearest replicator to get himself a cup of coffee.

"Very well," he said. "I guess all that I have to do now is wait and hope for the best."

 _To be continued…._


	6. Everything New is Old Again

**We're an active role playing group, folks. If you want to join in on the fun, contact cpvanhorne**

 **Everything New Is Old Again**

 **by Scott VanHorne**

 _USS Bonaventure_ , NCC 1745

Approaching Station K2, Miraz Passage

The _Bonaventure_ dropped from warp, and with just as sure of an absence of friction, she fired forth her navigational deflectors and leapt into impulse speed, aiming straight for the enemy vessel. On the bridge, a fresh faced and wide eyed Captain with chestnut coloured hair, and a swagger in his step snapped his fingers, and winked to his First Officer;

"Commander Hague, inform the Klingons that we have no intention of leaving this sector unsecured."

The goateed first officer smiled unabashedly, and cocked his head as he walked to the communications station, "With pleasure, Captain."

The youthful Bolian with the higher voice and boyish jaw turned a lighter shade of periwinkle blue, and gasped at the viewscreen. The angry looking Klingon vessel corrected its course, and began to bear down on them, "Captain, the _K'tinga_ is coming about!"

Unwavering, VanHorne slightly narrowed his eyes. "Hard to starboard. Target their engines. Concentrated phaser beam dispersal. Fire."

The ship's phaser beam lanced out in a brilliant reddish orange display of light and energy, pinpointing the enemy ship directly astern of her weakest point, immediately cutting through her defense screens, and obliterating her power systems in a display so bright that the bridge crew had to collectively shield their eyes.

"Direct hit!" Lieutenant T'Mel said breathlessly from the weapons console, not altogether devoid of emotion, her red hair held in loose bun over her sharply pointed ears.

Commander Hague read the communications read-out that spit back an answer from the original Klingonue'. The First Officer barely contained his pleasant surprise; "They're ….my God, sir, they're issuing a declaration of _non-combatance!_ "

Ensign Renn couldn't contain himself, "What?"

Hague smiled and nodded his head like a boy who had won a medal, "It's the Klingon version of a surrender."

Not yet willing to celebrate, VanHorne opened a channel to engineering, "Chief Siefort, what's our status?"

The Chief came upon the channel, "Minor damage. They barely scratched our hull paint. I've got Lt. O'Dag here re-calibrating our defense fields as we speak. We're ready for anything."

VanHorne nodded resolutely, "That's what I like to hear!" He then looked to his first officer, "Inform Starfleet that the mission to repel the Klingons from Station F2 is accomplished, and we'll be heading home shortly."

From the weapons console, Lt. T'Mel could be heard speaking to her security teams, "Stand down from red alert. Ensign Solkar, secure the armoury."

Ensign Renn turned back in his seat, and glanced admiringly at the Captain; "Sir, how did you … ?"

VanHorne smiled, "Intuition, Mr. Renn." He then pointed an index finger at his own temple, "Always a good thing to have around where Klingons are concerned."

Renn smiled, "Then it's a good thing we didn't retreat after all."

VanHorne stood from his seat; "Let this be a lesson. When times seem tough, that's no reason to abandon the reason we're all out here. Everyone copy that?"

There was an immediate, mutual "Aye."

"Computer, freeze program." Commander Vril said abruptly. He walked forward finally, and—

 _ **USS Bonaventure**_ **, NCC 1745-C;**

 **En birth of Terra Nova – Orbital Docking Facility**

 **Deck I; Holodeck 2**

–the scene in front of the green skinned man went completely suspended; Ensign Renn's characteristically goofy, bi-symmetrical smile was locked in place. Lieutenant T'Mel's severe auburn-blonde bunn that rode just above her slanted, pointy eyebrows staid perfectly in time with her head slightly cocked in acknowledgement. Chief Seafort had inhaled, about to say something witty with regard to his exceptional attention to the engines, and Commander Hague's arms were folded in front of him…indefinitely. As Vril walked forward to the center chair, he kept his eyes on the man, who, amazingly…was nearly the exact same chronological age as Vril now was. Curiosity getting the better of him, Vril stood shoulder to shoulder with the unmoving VanHorne hologram to see who was taller….

"What in the Alpha Quadrant are you doing?" The blonde haired Yeoman with the fetchingly ample bosom asked of her boss with a playful smile.

Vril flushed a darker shade of emerald, before he stepped back from the holographical recreation of Captain VanHorne and crew. Embarrassed, Vril immediately walked over to the helm station, where a 19 year-old version of himself had half of his tongue out, intently focused on the helm controls, hunched over with a focus that the two present-day officers found to be quite laughable.

"He looks really, really focused on his job!" Ensign Mary Rhetton said from the arch doorway. Vril smiled, and patted the motionless younger version of his holographic self on the cheek;

"This guy has no clue what he's got in store for himself!" The elder, alive Commander Vril said, turning back toward the viewscreen, and the recreation of the long forgotten Bonnie A and her stainless steel, black lacquered bridge. A feeling of intense nostalgia washed over him, as he crossed his own arms, and breathed in everything in front of him. Looking for flaws and inconsistencies in the program, yet finding surprisingly few . . .

"Amazing what ol' Owen Cross put together." The middle aged Orion said. Vril was still in remarkable shape; the corded muscles in his neck still striking an imposing figure, despite the wool red coat and turtleneck, still in use so many years later after he graduated from the Academy.

"Is that your father?" Mary asked, pointing at the man in the center chair, half hunched over the seat, in a subtle swivel to starboard, his left arm cocked, two fingers pointing forward, one arm poised over the multi-function arm-rest controls. Even Captain VanHorne's boots were in a poise of action, the sharpness of his sideburns in full attentive, assertive motion. His lips were curled in a pre-emptive fashion, suggesting that the next words out of this timeless place – this captured moment – would carry weight, depth and heavy consequence. VanHorne's blue eyes were unblinking, and Vril observed them for a moment longer, before ordering the program to terminate.

"Admiral K'rilish…" Mary began. Vril nodded curtly

"I know." He said. Indeed, nothing more needed to be said. The Caitian was on Deck A, and would not be denied . . .


	7. Do As I Say, Not As I Do pt 2

We're an active role playing group, y'all. If you want to join in the fun, contact cpvanhorne

 **"Do As I Say And Not As I Do" Pt2**

 **by Paul B**

 **Terra Nova – Eta Cassiopeiae**

 **Conestoga City**

 **Government District**

 _OFF: Eight hours after the events on the_ Bonaventure-C

 _ON:_

The founding of Terra Nova had been a success in the early days of human exploration. It's city namesake of Conestoga was taken from the ship that brought the first colonists to that world. Led by the charismatic Captain Mitchell, the groundbreaking of the colony had been transmitted worldwide on Earth in 2078. Humanity on that day had finally proved that it could colonize other worlds in the cosmos.

That success, unfortunately, was short lived. By 2083 the old human affliction of nationalism surfaced among the colonists of Terra Nova who had frowned upon another batch of colonists being sent to their world. An opposition group was formed, and they had sent a message promising violence to any new settlers. It was also the last known message to be sent. Communications from Earth went ignored and the fate of the second wave of settlers became a mystery. Terra Nova, Earth's government decided, was not worth the risk. Like the Roanoke mystery of the late 16th century, Terra Nova had become the stuff stories swapped by Boomers and travelers.

It was not until 2151 that an away team from the starship _Enterprise_ had discovered the irradiated remains of the colony, and that it had fallen victim not by violence of its colonists, but by a meteor strike. The survivors had thought Earth had brought destruction on their world, but by the efforts of Captain Jonathan Archer of the _Enterprise_ they had come to realize that Earth had not been their enemy.

In the decades and centuries that followed, the shattered and irradiated world of Terra Nova underwent a profound change. Purged of the deadly radiation, the colony was rebuilt from the ground up. By the early 24th century it had become a technological hub at the heart of the Federation. In a grandiose effort to display the Federations technological greatness, Conestoga City had risen from the ashes as a very modern city where there were no limits to the imaginations of architects and engineers. Buildings of striking and bold designs defined the city where now over two million people resided; most of them employees of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, and the myriad of multi-national corporations that supported both institutions.

It was in one such building, a needle by its obvious design, that the branch office of Starfleet Tactical resided. Located in a square with other offices and branches of Starfleet, the building was the only one with no Starfleet delta on its entrance or signage indicating what resided within. In a further attempt to be nondescript, the windows of the main lobby were tinted black. Only the Starfleet security officer standing by the doors gave any indication that it was an official building.

"So that's it?" Bannerjee said to the driver of the air car. He stood outside the car at the curb as he looked across the square toward the building.

"Yes," the driver answered. A civilian cabbie, he knew every building in the city. "A shame really. That is the only Tokoran designed building on the planet, and no tours are permitted."

Not a student of architecture, Bannerjee could only take the cabbies word as truth. Having been at Terra Nova for a mont,h he had assumed that Starfleet Tactical shared one of the buildings with another division. Wishing the cabbie a good day, Bannerjee set off across the square.

It was a pleasant spring day and tables were set up around the fountain in the center of the square. The fountain was a work of art employing anti-gravity generators that forced the water to float within a field. Gigantic goblets of water moved slowly about coalescing into each other and splitting apart. It was hypnotic, and most of the patrons were staring at it while they talked.

Bannerjee didn't get within four meters of the tactical building when the security officer snapped to attention. He had not noticed that the officer was armed, and that he had moved his hand to the handle of his weapon.

Raising his right hand, the officer pressed his palm toward Bannerjee and indicated for him to stop. "Hello, Captain, do you have an appointment?" he asked. His voice had the slightest pretention of being courteous.

"I am Captain Sarat Bannerjee, commanding officer of the _USS Bonaventure-C_ ," Bannerjee said in a firm voice. "I have an appointment with Admiral K'rilish."

The officer produced a PADD, and after a few seconds of reading, he shook his head in confirmation. "Thank you, Sir. You may enter the lobby."

He turned to a display panel next to the doors and he pressed his palm on a reader. A series of loud clicks sounded from the doors as locks were disengaged.

"What a bunch of nonsense!" Bannerjee exclaimed to himself.

He walked past the guard and into a lobby that was completely empty. There was a receptionist's desk and sofas and chairs for people, but none of them looked as if they had been used.

Across the lobby was a bank of turbolifts. Ones of the doors opened, and Pilar appeared.

"Captain Bannerjee, you are eight minutes early."

"Oh? I thought I was late," Bannerjee said with sarcasm.

Pilar's right eyebrow arched just slightly as if she were gaging the level of his sarcasm. She stepped back into the turbolift. "Shall we proceed?"

Bannerjee entered the lift. Once the doors closed the lift began to move, and without any instruction by Pilar.

"This building is big enough to be the complete headquarters for Starfleet Tactical," Bannerjee said.

"Your assessment is correct, Captain," Pilar said. "The Admiral maintains a satellite office in what was the headquarters for Starfleet Tactical in San Francisco. This building also houses a research and development wing in close accordance with Starfleet Security and Starfleet Engineering."

Bannerjee responded with a whistle. "Admiral K'rilish has some friends then, eh? I have been here for a month and I had no clue that he had his offices here."

Pilar turned her head and she looked at Bannerjee. "The Admiral enjoys his discretion."

"I guess that explains the lack of sending notices regarding spot inspections," Bannerjee interjected.

Pilar's eyebrow crept higher. "You would have preferred a notice?" she asked.

"It' just a little rude showing up to one's house unannounced."

"Fascinating," Pilar said.

Bannerjee frowned at the answer but the lift slowed to a stop before he could respond. He followed Pilar into a hallway where the walls were illuminated from floor to ceiling with light panels. Both panels cast the area between them in a brilliant orange light that slowly turned to red and then purple.

"So, this is what makes a Tokoran designed building so special," Bannerjee said to himself.

"You have an interest in architecture, Captain?" Pilar asked.

"The cab driver that brought me here said that this building was special," Bannerjee confessed. "I guess it explains the fancy light panels on the walls."

"The light panels serve to hide the security scanners."

"Ah, so the guests aren't too put off," Bannerjee said. He smirked. "With the lack of signage on this building and the surly security guard at the door, I guess some pretty lights on the wall would put people at ease."

"You enjoy sarcasm, Captain," Pilar said. She stopped at another door and she inserted a security code into an access panel. "Yet, you forget that Starfleet had been infiltrated by Romulan spies eighteen years ago. The Admiral made a personal vow that it would not happen under his watch."

"How do you know that I am not a spy?" Bannerjee replied.

The door opened, and Pilar looked at Bannerjee with that same glacial look as she had given him aboard the _Bonaventure_.

"We are wasting valuable time with this pointless talk."

The door opened into a large room. It was here that Bannerjee realized that he was on the top floor of the building. The ceiling sloped inward from all sides to where, at the very top where it formed the spire of the building, it was a single piece glass. Looking up through this glass ceiling, Bannerjee watched as a thick cloud moved past the noon sun. Just as the sun's rays began to filter down into the building the glass began to darken, but just enough where the light level in the room did not change. It gorgeous, he had to admit, and the work that it took to form a glass ceiling was a technical marvel of its own right. He also noticed the faint shimmer of a security field over the room, no doubt a jamming device to prevent eavesdroppers from scanning the room.

The floor of the room was filled with work stations. Seated before a bank of monitors that were Starfleet personnel. They had communications studs in the ears and they talking softly while they accessed the data that scrolled across their screens.

Pilar was moving quickly across the floor, but Bannerjee slowed down enough to listen to a Tellarite seated at one of the stations. He was tapping his finger on a screen where the image of a Klingon D7 appeared.

"Starfleet Academy Psi Epsilon, we roger your request, Instructor Keyes. Commencing Takashi Maru in three, two, one…. mark. The Admiral wishes Victory Squad good luck."

"Captain Bannerjee," Pilar said from across the floor. "This way, please."

"What is this place?" Bannerjee asked.

"You are on the Support and Analytics floor. Your apparent eavesdropping was at the section assigned for tactical and command training for Starfleet cadets."

Bannerjee looked around the room. The work stations were laid out in a concentric pattern and they were facing a hologram at the center of the floor where there was a three-dimensional display of the known galaxy. The Alpha and Beta Quadrants were laid out in grid units, and here were colored sections and icons indicating non-Federation space, most notably Klingon and Romulan. Bannerjee noticed that most of the icons within Federation space were moving. Those were starships.

This was a control room, a nexus from where the head of Starfleet Tactical could observe what he considered the key units of his command. At the far end of the room was a bank of windows all of them darkened.

"If we may proceed, Captain," Pilar said. This time she spoke with a firm tone.

"Of course," Bannerjee answered.

Pilar walked over to a set of doors by the bank of windows. They were made of polished wood and they were inlaid with frosted glass and the logo of Starfleet Tactical.

"You may wait for the Admiral," she said. "Please do not touch the coffee pot."

Bannerjee blinked at the odd request. "What?"

Pilar walked away, having pretended not to have heard the question. For an adjutant she carried power in her role, and Bannerjee could see it when she walked past the work stations. A specialist who was drinking a beverage quickly put it down and feigned interest in his monitors.

Turning to the doors, Bannerjee entered the inner sanctum of Starfleet Tactical. What he found was an office that was incredibly sparse and open. Arranged at the corner of the top floor there were banks of windows that would have promised a gorgeous view of Conestoga City, but they were all darkened. A seating area with large leather sofas and tables was located at the corner. Table lamps glowed a lonely light onto the area. At the opposite end of the room was a desk…there was always desk for the admirals…and it was huge. A bank of displays was built into its surface and each one was flashing data and video feeds. Orb shaped devices no larger than Bannerjee's fist lined the outer edge of the desk. He recognized those as Caitian holoprojectors.

There were other personal touches. Behind the desk, and bolted to the wall, was the most striking. It was a chunk of hull plating and it looked as if it had gone through hell and back. The duranium was bent and blackened and a large and faded capital "S" was barely discernible.

Bannerjee knew where the hull plating had come from. It was taken from the _USS Sentinel_ , Admiral K'rilish's first command that he had lost in the Taurus Reach. How he came by the piece of hull plating must have been a unique story.

A hissing sound made Bannerjee tense. He instinctively moved his hand to where he would normally have worn a phaser. Set on top of a serving counter was an odd contraption. It had a cylinder-shaped tank made of hammered brass and around its base were a series of levers, needle gauges, and brass tubing. A heating plate beneath the vessel warmed the tank which produced steam that was occasionally vented by the device. Next to it was another, but smaller, contraption. It had a glass orb at the top filled with coffee beans and beneath it was a grinder and catch basin.

 _The coffee pot_ , Bannerjee thought. The damn thing looked it was about to take off into space.

Whatever was brewing inside the brass beast, it smelled wonderful. Steering clear of the coffee pot, Banerjee walked over to the desk and he sat down on one of the large chairs set in front of it. Looking at one of the orbs on the desk, he began to wonder how they operated. He had seen one once by one of his Caitian crewmembers on a former command, but he had never asked how they operated. He just knew that many Caitian kept them around and they were uniquely personnel.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Bannerjee reached out toward the orange orb directly in front of him. He brushed his fingers against it to test its material and he was alarmed when it responded with a beep. A light glowed from the top of the orb and a small holoimage bloomed over the desk.

The image of a young Caitian appeared. She looked to be in her teens and she had maroon fur, intense green eyes, and long red hair. She was standing next to an older female with the same colored fur and equally bright eyes. The two had their arms around each other and they were dressed as if they were camping. They wore field breaches and light cotton shirts. Around them was nothing but a vast grassland.

The holographic image last for five seconds before it switched off. Looking around the office and feeling a bit guilty, Bannerjee touched the next one.

The image that appeared was a further look into the Admiral's personal life. At first, he thought was looking at a young Caitian male. There was something wrong with him because, although he was standing, he had walking supports strapped to a set of legs that were not digitigrade like a Caitian. He was surprisingly short, and he had orange fur with black stripes that made him look tiger-like. It was in the ears and tail that gave him away. The ears had no fur, and they were webbed like a bat wings. The tail, too, was without fur and it reminded Bannerjee of a rat's tail.

The boy was Kzinti, or a Kzinti Caitian hybrid.

"What the bloody hell," Bannerjee said to himself.

A clawed hand appeared through the image and it slammed down onto the orb, and the image vanished. Where Bannerjee had been staring into the face of the Kzin he was now staring into the angry glare of Admiral K'rilish. His good eye was a narrow slit and filled with rage.

"PERHAPS YOU WOULD LIKE TO TAKE A LOOK AT THE OTHER ONES!"


	8. Enro Jaxa pt 2

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 **Enro Jaxa pt2**

 **by illusionna**

 **Janitza Village, Dakhur Province, Bajor**

 **Late Summer 2319**

Lantin Ri rested his chin on his hand as he looked out of the window of his tiny, four room dwelling, at the woman standing near the front door. She wore a lavender dress that flowed about her like flower petals. It was not the most fashionable, nor the most practical, of outfits, but it was the type she tended to choose, and she looked lovely in them. Her strawberry blonde hair swayed in the breeze, as if invisible fingers were lifting it to sniff the mountain air from the strands, before laying it back on her shoulders and down her back. Her hands were crossed, her back straight, as she stared down.

Her way was blocked by her long time adversary. While her adversary was obviously from Bajor, there were things about the woman that were off, that if one looked to closely, she seemed a type of caricature of a Bajora. Her tall frame was not slender enough in some places, and not stocky enough in other places (though she was just fine in all the right places, Ri thought). Her bare arms were a little too skinny, even with the visible muscle of them, her bust and hips wider than a native's would be. Her skin was too pale, as if the sun never touched it quite enough to darken it. Her long hair was not the right colour, there was too much red in it, or too much gold, as if it couldn't make up its mind. Her eyes were not quite large enough, and not spaced far enough apart. They were a blue colour that didn't occur in the Bajora, like the colour of the ocean so far away. And while her ear held the earring bestowed upon those who had swam the Rakantha River, her nose did not have the ridges that would have been a dead giveaway that she was Bajora. Instead, it was smooth, ending a too small to be Bajora tip.

"We have had this discussion before," she said to her way-blocker, her lips in a pursed line. Though she did not sound like a speaker native to Dakhur, she could have travelled anywhere within its parameters and sounded like a native speaker from any other place. Her words were fully Bajora, even if her accent could not be tied down to a place. "Move aside," she said.

"He doesn't understand you, you know," Ri said, opening the front door.

"He understands what I am saying perfectly," she replied. "He is simply choosing to be obstinate."

Ri had learned upon her arrival that she liked expensive words. They were really the only things he had been able to find that impressed her, besides a dictionary. Even the Kai had not taken her fancy the way a highly literate piece of vocabulary did. She also liked how the words were derived, how they came to mean one thing and not another, or how another thing came to mean something altogether different over the years. She has asked him question after question about them, but he had not known the answer. He was a doctor, after all. Not a linguist.

Ri stomped toward the fanged goose that stood in the woman's way, in an attempt to shoo it off. It did not budge. "He thinks you are one of his wives," Ri teased.

"He thinks I am a whipping girl," she replied with a smile. "Mean old thing," she said to it. "Move!"

It hissed at her.

"All of your wives are over there," she pointed to the side, where the four other of their fanged geese milled about. She had told Ri, when she'd learned the word for wife, that she thought it funny that harem of attached female geese was called such.

"You mean like a husband and wife—who have been through matrimony?" she'd asked.

"Yes," he had replied. "What is so funny about that?"

"It seems rather high praise, for a bird," she had shrugged her pale shoulders, which never seemed to get very tan in the sun. Of course, he knew that she was, indeed, tan, as the rest of her body attested to when more than her arms were bare, but a casual onlooker wouldn't have guessed it. "Where I come from, they would be mates." She argued semantics constantly, the slight change in a meaning of the word meant the entire conversation to her. It made her communication extraordinarily clear, but it made conversations like these taxing.

"Mates would hardly be fitting," he had said. "They marry for life, and all of them are faithful to each other."

"He isn't faithful," she argued. "He has four wives!"

"But he's faithful to them," Ri had said. "Is that not enough?"

She had looked at him _that_ smile, the one he'd never quite learned to read. At first he thought it was a seductive one, but later he'd learned that seduction wasn't something she did. "Is it supposed to be?"

"It is for us," he waved his hands about them, to encompass the Bajoran people. "Is it not on your homeworld?"

She'd leaned in then, her eyes hooded. "We would like it to be on Earth," she had replied. "But it seldom is."

The faithful fanged-gander was currently flapping his wings, as if to make a dash at the Earthling, when she bent down, picked up a stone, and flung it at the bird. "Don't you dare," she warned it. "I feed you!"

It squawked and skitted to the side enough for her to hurry to the door, into Ri's waiting arms. He laughed, kissing her gently on the lips. "So," he asked, "what gossip did you buy at the market today, Katrys?"

Smiling up at him, she swept into the house, sitting down at the table from which he'd first spied her walking, empty handed, from the market. "Saka has not had her baby yet," she told him, but he already knew that. After all, he would be delivering the baby. "Enro did not come home again last night. Sito is worried about him." Katrys raised her pale eyebrows at him and pursed her lips.

"Why would he not come home?" Ri asked.

"I think that is what worries her," Katrys replied. "He had mentioned something about being too dirty. Sito said she's fussed at him for dragging mud in the house before, but nothing that would make him not want to come home."

"Too dirty? Like, he needed a bath?" Ri sat up straight, staring at her incredulously. "That doesn't sound like Sito, at all. You don't honestly think she'd keep him out of the house for dragging mud in it? I was rasied with her, Katrys."

"I didn't say I think," she said quickly. "I said that's what the talk was." Before he could interject, she continued. "I don't think Sito thinks so either, to be honest. She overheard some of the other boys talking."

"Saying what?" his words were slow.

"That he was stupid and clumsy." Ri nodded, these were common epithets thrown at the fully bearded man. "That he smelled bad, that he smelled like an unwashed got'ha," she said, referring to the doglike herding animal many of farmers in the areas used. "Or like got'ha excrement."

Only, he was sure the boys hadn't used the word excrement. He took a deep breath, frustration simmering in his gut. "The man doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Why do people do this to him?"

The look of compassion that Katrys gave him almost brought tears to his eyes. She was no Bajora, but he was sure her love of the language extended to the people who spoke it. Whenever he was in distress, she shared in it. She put her hand on his. "Ri," her voice was gentle, but authoritative. "People talk about things. They don't realize they're being mean."

That was code, he knew, for "They talk about you, and what they say isn't nice." She had never once told him that out loud. She had never once told him what they said, but he knew it anyway. Many were not afraid to say it to his face. He shouldn't be with a Stranger, no matter how Bajora she tried to be. He was of the _Sern'apa_ caste, he was...worth...much more than Metkaff Katrys, whose actual name was too close to a swear word for her to be called it. The Bajoranized form of her name was barely Bajoran, just as her body and her speech were. He knew that half of them said he was wasting his time on this woman, and the other half were glad he was with a woman at all. The talk had begun to turn in other directions among his fellow villagers before she had come along.

"I also heard that the blight has hit the western slope," she continued, bringing his mind back to his dwelling and the conversation at hand. "It has already wiped out half of the dolmara crop on the mountain. It's only a matter of time before it reaches the grain in the valley."

Ri sighed. "Two years without a dolmara fruit."

"We can import them," she urged with a small smile.

"It's not the same," he pouted. "But it's grain that's the problem."

"The village knew this was happening," Katrys said. "They've all stored it...haven't they?"

Ri did not answer her question. "It looks like your friends medicine did not work."

"Medicating plants is not as easy as medicating people or animals, Ri," she replied testily.

"When do you see them again?" he asked.

"The day after tomorrow," she said. "I will get another batch of antibiotics for that nasty stomach thing that's been going through the mountains, and I'll find out if the Cardassians have made any headway on the blight."

He reached out and held her cheek in his hand, eyes glazing over. "What would we do without you?" he asked. "What would I do without you?"

She leaned into his hand. "I don't know."

"Probably watch babies die of Mother Death. I haven't lost a single child since the Cardassians brought their inoculation to Bajor." He leaned in and kissed her.

His heart began to pound in his chest when she leaned into him and kissed him passionately back.


	9. Do As I Say, Not As I Do pt 3

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 **"Do As I Say And Not As I Do" Pt3**

 **by Paul B**

 **Terra Nova – Eta Cassiopeiae**

 **Conestoga City**

 **Government District**

 **Starfleet Tactical**

 _ON:_

For a moment, Bannerjee did not know what to say. He just looked at K'rilish who had his teeth bared. Remembering what Itanya had told him about being honest, he did not pull away from the hulking Caitian.

"Perhaps you should not have personal items so close on your desk where guests can look at them!"

For a long time K'rilish stare at him, his teeth bared and his tail whipping form side to side. Still, Bannerjee did not look away. He tugged at his jacket before he spoke.

"You came aboard my ship and pried about and then you summoned _me_ here. I think I damn well deserve to know what the hell is it that you want, Admiral."

K'rilish finally moved away from the desk. He eased himself into his chair and he raised his ears as if he were contemplating something. "Do you have children?"

It was an odd question for such a moment, but Bannerjee nodded. "Yes, Sir. I have a boy and a girl. My son is a Starfleet science officer, and my daughter is a physician. What about you?"

The ears pulled slightly and K'rilish tensed as if he were suspecting Bannerjee of being facetious. He flicked his eyes to the orbs. "What did you see?"

"A Caitian teenager with what I believe to be her mother, and a Kzin."

"Tirin is the mother and my wife. Seleesa is my daughter. The boy is Charl and he is my grandson. He is only half Kzin."

Bannerjee nodded. "I had heard the stories but like most people I thought them to be rumors."

K'rilish responded with a grunt. He pushed himself out of his chair and he walked over to the serving area and the coffee pot. He opened a cupboard above the coffee pot and he took out a battered steel service mug. Bannerjee had not seen that style mug since he was a cadet.

"You want coffee?" came the curt question.

"Itanya Romanov said I should be honest with you, so the answer to that is yes. Cream and sugar would be nice, Sir."

"I don't have any."

"Then I guess I'll have my coffee black."

Taking a plain white coffee cup from the cupboard K'rilish filled it. He returned to the desk where he placed the coffee cup in front of Bannerjee. He sat down, and he placed his mug on the desk. Bannerjee saw that it had the serial number and name of the _Constitution_ Class _USS Bonaventure_. The cup had a dent on one side.

Bannerjee picked up the coffee cup and he sipped. The coffee was rich and dark. Although he was far from a connoisseur of coffee, he knew that it was better than any coffee had drank in ages. Even the new food replicators of the _Bonaventure_ did not come close.

"That's how you got your eye."

K'rilish tilted his head to one side in a catlike manner that would have been funny had it come from someone else. "What?"

"A Kzin took it when you saved your grandson. That's the one story I heard that sounds true now that I saw your grandson's picture. Does the Hegemony still have a price on your head?"

"As do the Romulans and Klingons. Who cares?" K'rilish shot back. "Do you want to know what I found regarding my inspection?"

Bannerjee lowered his coffee cup. He was curious, but he needed to keep his composure. "The _Bonaventure_ is a mess. I know."

"And you're not all concerned that this reflects your tenure of her?"

 _Her_. Bannerjee caught that. K'rilish was gruff, but he also had personal connections and a starship was not above them. He gave the vaguest of smiles as he put that fact to memory.

"She's a new ship of the line. She's fast, bigger, and better than even the _Excelsior_ class when it was new," Bannerjee began. "You have access to my reports under Admiral Jakobies tenure. I've done a lot with her considering her readiness."

K'rilish leaned forward and he tapped one of the screens on his desk. Data scrolled across the screen, but from where he sat Bannerjee could not read any of it.

"She has reached warp factor nine point eight on her last trials."

"On short hops. Yes."

"And there were no irregularities in the warp field at peak usage."

Bannerjee furrowed his brow at the comment. "This would not have anything to do with the _USS Ambassador_ being sidelined on her trials, Sir. Would it?"

"Why do you ask?"

He was deferring. Bannerjee sighed. "Because the _Ambassador_ came very close to ripping herself apart when she encountered a sudden fluctuation of her warp field while at peak usage. Only because she had a good skipper and an experienced trial crew she came out intact."

"That was listed as an anomaly, and it is still being investigated," K'rilish answered.

"Then why are the engineers at Starfleet headquarters calling it Tilson's Flaw?"

He was referring James Tilson, the designer of the _Ambassador Class_ starships new warp core and former engineer of the _USS Sentinel_. Seeing the look on K'rilish's face as he recognized the name of his former chief engineer pleased Bannerjee. The Admiral was finding out that he had done his homework, too.

Bannerjee continued. "Tilson revealed the possible flaw in a report just prior to his unfortunate death. He argued the location of the nacelles and the Bussard ram scoops so close to the aft portion of saucer section could create a potential wake effect."

"It is no secret, Captain, and James ruled out that the design of the ship was not flawed," K'rilish quickly added. "He was a supporter of it."

Again, K'rilish had slipped. He had called Commander Tilson by his first name as he would a friend, and he had spoken in a defensive manner.

Bannerjee nodded. "That is true, but Tilson was working on a new solution to alter the warp field to circumvent a possibility that it could happen. That it was one in a million-chance of occurring meant that he was not going to allow it to remain. Starfleet feels the same. That they are still working on it a year after Tilson's death is a bit frustrating."

"But the _Bonaventure_ can reach warp nine point eight and has," K'rilish stressed.

"Yes, and it remains one of the smoothest rides I ever felt on a starship."

A beep sounded from K'rilish's comm badge. He raised his hand and tapped it with the claw of his finger tip. "Yes?"

Pilar's voice called out. " _The representatives from Weyland are here, Sir, for your thirteen hundred."_

"Tell them to come back in an hour. Send them down to one of the fancy restaurants for lunch," K'rilish said.

" _They have already had lunch, Sir."_

"Then tell them to have a snack!" K'rilish barked. He slapped the comm badge to close the link he stood up again.

He walked over to the wall with the blanked-out windows and he tapped a control pad set at one of the sills. The work floor appeared and K'rilish stared at the holographic image of the galaxy from where he stood.

Bannerjee stood up and he walked over to the Caitian. "Where are we going? This is what is all about. Isn't it?"

"I could take my flagship," K'rilish said. He did not look away from the window and he spoke with a growl in his voice. "The _Valley Forge_ is all that I need, but they want to show off the new ship."

"You are referring to Starfleet Command."

K'rilish reached up to the glass and he tapped the window twice. To Bannerjee's surprise the holographic image from the floor also appeared on the window which acted as viewer but in two-dimensional format.

"This is highly confidential," K'rilish said. He looked down at Bannerjee. "It doesn't leave this room."

Finally, they were getting to the point. Bannerjee nodded. "Of course."

Placing the pad of his index finger on a purple coloured section of space, K'rilish zoomed it into view.

"This is Cardassian space," K'rilish began. He then tapped at a round icon and a planet not much unlike Earth appeared. "This is the planet Bajor in the Bajoran System. You may have heard that it was just invaded and occupied by the Cardassians."

"Yes," Bannerjee said. He stared at the planet. "All that the Federation could do was protest what they've done, but the Bajoran are not aligned with the Federation. I know that there have been rumours of atrocities."

"There have been," K'rilish said with a notable growl. He tapped the window again and another view screen appeared. "This is from Starfleet Intelligence."

A video began to play. It was grainy and in black and white, and it was clear that someone was taking it from come a hidden device. Cardassian soldiers stood at the side of a pit, and for the first time Bannerjee see them up close. They reminded him of lizards with their glistening skin, protruding neck muscles and spoon like indentations on their foreheads. All had black hair that was slicked back, and they wore combat armour that designed to make them look bigger and menacing. Lined up along the pit they were firing their disruptor rifles into the bottom.

Seeing what they were firing into Bannerjee was sickened. They were people. Bajoran people.

K'rilish tapped the video and it vanished. "It's getting worse, and the Cardassians government has already talked about future expansion of its territory. They have made bold claims that they mean to be the new power in the Alpha Quadrant."

As sickened as Bannerjee was by the video he was confused. "But we can't do anything. They haven't done anything to the Federation, Admiral."

"They have our people," K'rilish said. "The Federation had sent cultural representatives who volunteered to go among the Bajoran so they may learn about their people. It was a peaceful initiative but the Cardassians discovered their presence and they have been held prisoner. One of them is a former associate of mine. Katherine Metcalfe, a linguistics professional who is the best in her career.

"How did the Cardassians find out about our people?" asked Bannerjee.

"I don't know. Starfleet is working with the Federation and all security agencies to find out. The important task is to get our people back. Our representatives are talking with the Cardassians, and we don't know what the outcome may be. That's why I am in charge of Plan B."

"The _Bonaventure_ " Bannerjee said.

K'rilish nodded. "If the Cardassians mean to compete with the Federation than they need to see that, while we will do everything to work with them to maintain peaceful co-existence, that we are also prepared to protect ourselves. Starfleet Command knows that the Romulans and Klingons will be watching as well so show of strength is needed."

On the surface it was a clever idea. The goal of the _Ambassador_ Class starship was defined by its name, but it also existed on the unfortunate reality that all good intentions never always worked. There was always some thug, or would be dictator, willing to try to use force to get their way. That was the sad reality of geo-galactic politics.

 _A promising idea but only on the surface_ , Bannerjee thought. He could understand K'rilish's earlier objection regarding the _Bonaventure._ "The _Bonaventure_ is just not ready, Sir. We just had the weapons systems installed and they haven't been tested. Starfleet must…."

K'rilish cut Bannerjee off. "I said all of that to the CinC and the subject regarding the _Bonaventure's_ readiness is done. The ship leaves in thirty six hours, and after her commissioning."

Bannerjee thought he misheard K'rilish. "She's years from a formal commissioning!"

"Our enemies may be watching, and they need to see that we mean business and that the _Bonaventure_ is ready," K'rilish said. He took on the forceful tone as he had when he came aboard the Bonaventure. "That is why I have been tasked with this business. Starfleet Command wants me to take the _Bonaventure_ into Cardassian space should the Cardassians refuse to turn our people over, or make us come to them. The diplomats believe this will happen. Cardassians are proud and arrogant."

"Or if they decide to test us further," Bannerjee said. He then added. "You know what I mean, Sir."

K'rilish looked at Bannerjee. "That's also why I am being sent. You, Captain, have to get your ship in line should come to that unpleasant outcome."

"How am I supposed to do that with a commissioning ceremony, Sir?" Bannerjee said with disbelief. "They are formal affairs!"

K'rilish sighed. "Starfleet does understand the situation. After the commissioning we will make course to Starbase 621 for what will be a formal tour and introduction of the ship. We will proceed at full warp and we will carry on with the pretense of showing off the _Bonaventure_. There will be a dinner and your junior officers will serve as tour guides….to those areas that we allow and at certain times. We will disembark the guests at 621, take on additional personnel, provisions, and carry on with preparations until we are called."

 _Whoever thought of putting on the show of a fully working starship just to impress the Cardassians was mad_ , Bannerjee thought. He stared at the image of Cardassian space on the window viewer as he thought about the work he would have to do just to make the _Bonaventure_ presentable in thirty-six hours. It was going to be a daunting task.

"Do you have a problem with this mission, Captain?" K'rilish asked.

"You like honesty, Sir. To be blunt. It stinks."

"Then too bad," K'rilish answered. He turned away from Bannerjee. "Get the _Bonaventure_ ready for her commissioning, Captain. The next time we meet it will be during the commissioning. I will expect nothing less of perfection for a ship carrying the name _Bonaventure_."

Bannerjee was dismissed. Although he respected the Caitian for speaking his own thoughts with something he disagreed with personally, Bannerjee knew that the admiral was not going to deviate an inch from his orders. There was going to be no grumbling about the orders any further. Seeing how K'rilish ran Starfleet Tactical, Bannerjee suspected that K'rilish had even arranged for his replacement had he failed his evaluation. This whole trip had not been for K'rilish to tell him what he thought about the _Bonaventure's_ readiness, it was to evaluate him.

Bannerjee thought of his executive officer, Commander Vril. The Orion was more than competent, and he had served under K'rilish. It was strange, he realized, that Vril had not talked about K'rilish as Itanya had done. Was that out of personal issues, or professional courtesy?

It did not matter. The bullet that Bannerjee had ducked had been by a very slim margin. He had thirty-six hours to make a starship appear as if it were ready for action. With any luck the Federation diplomats were going to be successful with their deliberations with the Cardassian.

They would have to be.

The newest ship of the line had yet to fire a single shot.

K'rilish watched as Bannerjee left his office. Having read the man's file and have spoken to him he was certain that he was a good officer. He certainly admired his ability to speak openly although he suspected Itanya Romanov was instrumental in that regard.

Sitting back down at his desk, K'rilish reached for his coffee cup and he took a sip. He stared at the screens arranged across his desk. Most of them were feeds from his staff on the main floor, and one such screen was piping through live footage of a cadet simulation from Starfleet Academy. Starfleet Tactical, his command, not only carried out the task of arming starships and devising news defensive weapons, but aided in the application of tactical theory. Of that, K'rilish had an intense interest. The simulations he had put together for Starfleet Academy with his staff, he considered, were the best in years.

One item from his conversation with Bannerjee did bother him. Tilson's Flaw. Bannerjee had shown himself a knowledgeable commander and his concern for his ship over that flaw had been admirable. He had also been warranted about his concerns that it could happen again.

K'rilish had not told him that the odds were much less than he believed. It was a problem that that could risk the mission. He was not, however, without a plan. It would involve a friend, and a bit of scheming, but if it was one thing his years of command had taught him was that the outcome always mattered if lives were at stake.

He tapped his comm badge. "Pilar."

" _Yes, Sir."_

"Have you confirmed Governor Savion's arrival at Earth from the Taurus Reach?"

" _He and his family are in San Francisco and he is due to speak with Federation representatives shortly."_

K'rilish tapped a screen and he brought up Kerovan's file along with that of his family. The man had aged well over the years and even looked fitter now that he had grown accustomed to civilian and family life. T'Val, looked the same; ageless as most Vulcans seemed to be. They also had a child, T'Kay, who looked very much like her mother.

If T'Kay possessed her mother's beauty she most certainly possessed the intellect of her father. According to the file, she expressed an interest in joining Starfleet. The transmission records over the last year showed no more than twenty inquiries into various courses, mostly technical, and there had been various discussions with recruiters.

A tour and short trip aboard the newest ship of the line would interest both her and her father. For the father, meeting up with old friends would pique his interest. Savion had been away from Federation space so long. Personally, K'rilish would enjoy the reunion.

But Savion was busy. He was a key figure in the politics of Felicity and he lived for that world and its people. There was a chance he may want to finish his business and get home as soon as possible.

" _Do you need something, Admiral?"_ Pilar asked. She had waited long enough, and she knew that K'rilish was thinking and planning something.

"Extend a formal invitation to Governor Savion and his family at my behest for the commissioning of the _Bonaventure-C_ ," K'rilish said at last. "They are to receive VIP treatment and diplomatic quarters. Am I clear?"

" _I will make the arrangements, Sir. Is there anything else?"_

"Extend invitations to other former members of the _Bonaventure's_ engineering team. The more, the better."

" _Yes, Sir,"_ Pilar answered. A second passed before she added. " _Would you like me to grant Governor Savion his former security clearance that he had as commanding officer, Sir? He may desire to review any information regarding the_ Bonaventure-C _?"_

That was Pilar, always looking at the angles.

"Do it," K'rilish said. He tapped his comm badge and he closed the link.

 _This may not be necessary_ , he thought. At the very least, the whole thing would come down to a boring cruise to a nondescript Starbase. The veterans would reminisce about fond memories and sad events, and they would marvel at the new ship named _Bonaventure_. Having lied to a friend and former associate just to have him on board the ship in case of an emergency, that, K'rilish could live with.

But if everything went wrong, and they usually did, he would have the best engineer in all of Starfleet.

 _OFF:_


	10. Seasons of Change: Reunion pt 1

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 **"** **The Season of Change: Reunion"**

 **by Lowell B  
**

 _ **USS Edison**_

 _ **Oberth**_ **class science vessel**

 **The outer edge of the Eta Cassiopeiae system**

 _ **2319 ...**_

 **File document A9442 - Resuming ...**

[If I were to say good-bye now ... to state that I would never see anyone of you ever again ... it would be a lie,] said Jexe.

The Fleet Captain stood at the podium at the far end of the hanger bay of the _USS Repulse_. Before him nearly two hundred members of the Taurus Fleet were gathered - individuals and crew of the host ship, the _USS Bonaventure_ , the former _Sentinel_ and several Boomer vessels - gathered together for a day many had argued would never come. Jexe continued.

[In the time I've served along side each of you, from my days as a Lieutenant in the _Bonnie's_ Engineering Department, to a Bridge Officer, to now as the Captain of this Fleet I have learned one thing ... nothing is certain.]

The Titan's eyes flared with an inner light.

[We can make the impossible possible.]

The applause that echoed across the chamber had the staccato cadence of sincere emotion. Owen watched the tears on many of the faces of his fellow crew mates, especially Haddy and K'Liver. K'rilish's face was stoic, but the young CSO could see something vulnerable in the man's eyes. Savion's absence was also deeply felt.

[And so for now, because when it comes to us, our future is always uncertain, let's not say good-bye, but only ... good night.]

The second round of applause rung off the duranium walls of the bay. Stepping away from the podium the Fleet Captain walked forward and began to personally shake the hands of each and every member present. Only a quarter of a cycle earlier Jexe had vented the residual build up of proto-energy that had been plaguing his body, a physiological disorder that to Owen's own frustration, he had been unable to reverse, or treat.

The disorder had lead to the day at hand - Fleet Captain Jexe's departure from the Taurus Fleet and Starfleet itself.

 **File document A9442 - Suspended ...**

Owen lifted his finger from the pause button on the PADD. Sitting back in his crisp leather chair he scratched at the curls of his neatly groomed beard. He knew how the rest of the holo-vid ended, especially as he made his own good-byes with his best friend -

*Brother ... * he thought with himself.

Putting the PADD down on his Ready Room desk he folded his arms and surveyed the other PADDs in front of him. He thumbed his bearded chin, a mannerism he had unconsciously picked up from Jexe himself. He knew the story of how the rest of that day unfolded nearly 20 years ago - Jexe's final words and transfer of Command of the Fleet to Captain K'rilish, and the promotion to Captain of the _Repulse_ to his First Officer, Commander Karen Patterson.

After that Jexe was beamed aboard his Captain's yacht, the _Odysseus_ , along with his many parting gifts and supplies - his Klingon long gun, the same weapon he had used to kill Gedeon Wolfe, A few rocks from his collection, mainly ones he had taken from Felicity itself, PADDs containing operas, concerts, sporting events and numerous holo-flics. And then there were the gifts. Ron, the worker Bot that was discovered among the ejected trash from the departing Romulan D7 cruiser the _RRW Dheyyan_. Owen had personally reprogrammed the Bot to be Jexe's companion, and protector (Jexe would need one when he would be rendered to Human form), while recording the Fleet Captain's day to day activities. The Chief Science Officers reprogramming had been nowhere near the level of Emma, but the Bot was something unique, and new. It would have to be for the task that was ahead for the Fleet Captain.

The last gift had been from Captain Frankie Abaccio of the _SS Andria_ , and perhaps the most touching.

The young kitten had been taken from a litter from a few of the tolerated strays that lived on the Boomer ship. Visibly moved, Jexe instantly named the black and white tuxedo, Charlie, after famed Silent Film actor Charlie Chaplin. Both Owen and Dr. Foster approved of the gift. In his isolated seclusion the Fleet Captain would need an anchor, something to care for, if not to distract him from his own developing plight. In the life time that Owen had known Jexe he knew one thing was true.

He had always placed the need of others before his own.

Owen picked up another PADD and hit the play button for the next opened vid. It was another good memory, though he knew it would leave him in a bitter sweet mood.

It was Jexe's proposal to Cass.

 **File document G5402 - Commencing ...**

He watched as Jexe lowered to a knee and opened the black velvet box as he stood before Karen. His First Officer held a PADD to record the moment as Owen himself filmed both of them within the privacy of the Captain's Ready Room. Jexe had insisted, especially in light of Cass' true condition. The Fleet Captain had recorded his proposal a day before his departure. When Cass awoke from her coma it would be played for her.

 **File document G5402 - Suspended ...**

Owen lifted a digit away from the pause button and looked away from the screen in thought.

Cass' condition. The link was there. He always knew it was, but what was the missing link that connected them? Cass' illness had been diagnosed as cancer, but what specific form of cancer had been a mystery. Not because their own records could not identify the variant of the abnormal cell growths plaguing her body.

Her body's own energy field was deflecting their scans.

Owen placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. It was only through an accident that they were to learn the truth. As the data from his examination of Jexe's condition grew, one thing was clear - Jexe was changing, and losing control of his energy manipulation abilities. As the proto-energy levels in his body grew he was likewise effecting numerous systems on the ship. To counter the effects new protocols were put in place. One came on too early, resulting in the isolation field surrounding Cass' body in Sick Bay to unexpectedly wink off.

The field had been in place to keep her in an induced coma. Instantly alarms sounded, and as the Medical Trauma Team rushed to turn the system back on they discovered something.

They could scan Cass' body.

Dr. Jeene Kacel quickly surmised that it wasn't Cass' body that had been deflecting their scans, but the infusion of the proto-energy she had absorbed from Jexe. The isolation field they had placed Cass in had intensified her body's reaction.

The CMO realized that such an act seemed to indicate the presence of an intelligent, if not sentient entity. Using non-intrusive scans over the Chief Engineer's body, fearing she would find the evidence of an advanced virus, or worse, a parasitic organism, Dr. Kacel found something completely unexpected.

Cassandra was pregnant - with twins!

Jexe's girlfriend wasn't suffering from cancer. Her body was undergoing the changes of gestation, a unique change brought on by Jexe's energy hybrid DNA, his infusion of protomatter, or both. More scans and analysis would be needed.

Owen chuckled. What came next was the only happy memory of those days. He and Dr. Kacel broke the news personally to both Jexe and Karen. The relationship between Jexe and his XO had been strained since Cass had been placed in a coma. Karen performed her duties as his First Officer flawlessly. After that she wasn't speaking to the Fleet Captain as she held him personally responsible for whatever was happening to her twin sister.

Owen remembered the look of both their faces.

 _"She's pregnant."_

 _"What ... ?" said Karen. The look on Jexe's face was priceless. Owen couldn't remember ever seeing his best friend so dumbfounded._

 _"With twins," added Kacel doing her best not to smile. "What I'm saying is ... she doesn't have cancer. What we thought was happening was - "_

 _"But she's healthy?" managed Jexe. His eyes were were looking deeply inward._

 _"She ... and your children," said Owen._

 _"Understandably, given your unique physiology, we've never seen anything like this, but we believe her coma is now a result of her body preparing itself for - "_

 _"She going to have kids!" Karen stood up, her face wet with tears. "She's not going to die - she's going to have kids!"_

 _"Yes," said the CMO with the broadest of grins. Karen whirled and threw her arms around Jexe's head and shoulders and hugged him fiercely._

 _"Sir ... I'm ... I'm so sorry! I hated hating you for what was happening, but - but - "_

 _Jexe held her. "But she's your sister, and you may possibly love her more than I do."_

 _He held his XO's shoulders tightly._

 _"I do ... " She sobbed deeply into his chest._

 _"We'll make this right, Karen," he whispered, soothing her hair. Tears of light glistened in his eyes. "I know it's not perfect, but I give you my word ... we'll make it right."_

Owen wiped his cheeks. The vid always got to him. Putting it aside he tired to clear his mind. He hadn't come to his Ready Room to reminisce. He had serious work to do - another mystery to solve, one that began 19 years ago ...

The Taurus Fleet had halted 10 light years from Federation space when Jexe made his departure.

Taking the _Odysseus_ , a years worth of supplies, including the holodeck material they had acquired from Star Bay from Ambassador Tylos himself, Jexe was to set up a base of operation on a Class M world somewhere outside of Federation space. It's location was never to be known, while sub-space communication would be accomplished though the Odysseus, or via the remnants of the communications dish that was one of the few items of wreckage salvaged from the remains of the _Outrider_.

A full month had passed before contact was made with the Fleet Captain. Wherever he had set up his base of operation no one ever knew, but he had been busy. The holodeck module had been established, allowing the Fleet Captain to project himself as a three dimensional avatar. The first meeting had been private. It was between Jexe and Cass who was showing the first trimester of her pregnancy, and who had an answer to the very question he had been waiting to hear - who she marry him?

Yes!

The next meeting was with numerous Starfleet officials who had questions for the Fleet Captain, none which had anything to do with his well being, or words of congratulations.

 _"Where is the protomatter S'harien had stolen?"_

 _It wasn't discovered until after the_ Repulse _docked on Star Base One that the sample was missing. Stored in a sealed cargo bay, access to the unstable substance was only through Jexe's own command code, a code that could only be superseded by a higher Officer. The Admirals had questions. Jexe had little to offer as an answer._

 _"I'm afraid I don't know," replied the Fleet Captain genuinely surprised by the news. "But may I ask ... what do you plan to do with it?"_

 _The Admirals had exchanged glances, but did not answer._

 _"Right. Based on all of your horrible poker faces I think it may be best that it's off the table for now. Unless ... you can say with full confidence that the impact of S'harien's infiltration into the highest levels of Starfleet has been cleansed."_

 _He paused allowing time for an answer. None came. Jexe continued,_

 _"Then its absence may be for the best."_

 _"Captain O'Dag it will take our engineers and science division months, if not years, to synthesize the amount of protomatter S'harien had stolen. You do realize that the Romulans may be developing their own."_

 _The Titan shrugged. "If they had the technology they wouldn't have stolen ours. But ... " The CO held up a finger. His avatar was beginning to break up. "With so many unknowns on your plate, this may be a good time ... a good opportunity to open up diplomatic talks with the Romulans. It may be reasonable for them to think we still have the stuff. Use that as leverage."_

 _"Captain O'Dag if it's discovered that you were implicit in stealing - "_

 _"Seriously" fired back the Titan. "You want to check our logs. For the entire journey back to Federation space I've been sequestered on the hanger bay - half the time sick with protomatter exposure. The other half in a weakened state. You see what it's done to me and the people in my life?"_

 _He crossed his arms over his chest. "The last thing I ever want to do is touch the stuff."_

 _The Admirals consulted in a small huddle. Jexe's avatar began to break up._

 _"By the way ... I'm fine, thanks for asking. And though I'm sympathetic to your current problem, I have a holographic wedding to plan. Also, I'm afraid my contact signal is breaking up. So ... sirs ... until next time."_

 _Sketching a salute the Fleet Captain's image faded with his signal decay._

Where was Jexe, and where was the protomatter?

Both mysteries Owen had tried to solve over the years. On the subject of the proto, he was no closer today than he was back in 2301. Had Jexe stolen it? If so - how? Owen shook his head. He had thought Jexe had told him everything. If he had planned to steal the matter, would he have consulted with him, or keep the act to himself to protect his friends and crew?

"Shit," the scientist swore.

The importance of finding the protomatter had lost its urgency after the first year of its search. It had always been a Starfleet mandate. Finding his best friend had been his. He picked up another PADD, it contained one of his personal logs.

Jexe had gone missing 8 months into Cass' pregnancy. Their holographic avatar meetings had become routine. On Earth Cass had settled into Jexe's Co-parents home on Lake George; the Chateau as it was called. The deluxe B&B had more than enough space for a nursery, an expecting mom, and a private holodeck. Though they were light years apart, and unable to physically touch Jexe and Cass had grown closer. Names had even been picked out for the twins - Marcus and Marie.

Then, with one month before the arrival date, Jexe simply vanished.

Putting down the PADD Owen opened an encrypted channel through his desk monitor. He tried to suppress the memory of that day. The image of a Vulcan female began to fade up on his screen. He sat up, pulled his uniform tighter, and soothed his beard.

Jexe was missing and the search for him had begun. But not just by him, his best friend, but for all his friends and those who served with him. And though careers and lives had gone on - Owen glanced at the wedding ring on his finger - their search never ended.

"Pilar! I must say my wife's portrait of you doesn't do you justice."

The image of the Vulcan on his screen quirked a strict eyebrow. [Commander Cross,] began the adjutant. [It is agreeable to see you.]

"I would agree," replied Owen. "So ... is our favourite Caitian around? I need to speak with him privately."

[Admiral K'rilish is currently unavailable for reasons both - ]

"- Classified and duty bound," finished the scientist. "I know, I've heard your prepared statements before."

He pulled his chair closer to the screen. "As I'm sure said reasons have everything to do with the _Bonaventure-C's_ commissioning ceremony tomorrow. Tell you what, the _Edison_ is only eight hours away from Terra Nova, I could be there in three."

The Vulcan met his stare for three long seconds before she replied.

[I will see to it that the Admiral is notified of your arrival.]

"Aaaaaaaaand ... "

Vulcans didn't sigh, especially Officers such as Pilar, but Owen thought he saw something in her stare.

[And I will see to it that invitations are extended to you and your Bridge crew.]

Owen drew in a clinched fist. "Yes! Thank you Pilar. You're the best! Love ya! - Owen out!"

The Commander cut the line and leaned back in his chair. He had played his part as the eccentric (and illogical) Science Officer.

A vexing fact that would no doubt be relayed to Kri by his fastidious adjunct. What the Vulcan Commander didn't realize was that such information also served as a subtle code to Admiral K'rilish, a code that conveyed a distinct message.

The two needed to meet.

Standing, Owen picked up two PADDs. He was needed on the Bridge. Three hours to Terra Nova, and perhaps another two before he could arrange the meeting with Kri. It seemed a life time away, but nothing compared to the last 19 years. He felt the excitement building in him. Over the past seventy two hours they had done it. They had found the first solid lead on Jexe's whereabouts.

A lead that scared him to the core of his being.

 **Commander Owen Cross - Commanding Officer**

 _ **USS Edison**_ **NCC-4933**

 **Commander Pilar - Adjunct**

 **Starfleet Tactical**


	11. Seasons of Change: Reunion pt 2

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 **"** **The Season of Change: Reunion" pt 2**

 **by Lowell B**

 **Terra Nova – Eta Cassiopeiae**

 **Conestoga City**

 **Industrial district**

"Stop here - HERE!" cried out Larae.

The espresso brunette's voice held the full energy of their mad dash through Conestoga City. Renaldo downshifted and angled the TT Special 650 Triumph motorcycle into the narrow gap between two parked grav-cars along the curb.

The Cadet once again marvelled at how amazing the ancient bike handled and felt. It was aunt Haddy's bike, by way of their uncle Jexe, but more it was _the_ same bike that the two rode on their epic adventure trek through the desert lands of Liebnitz Colony, the Hatlh Plains just outside of Melas. For now it was his, at least until they got back from their mission.

Hitting the kill switch Renaldo kicked out the side-stand and felt Larae bound off the back of the bike with all the grace of a premier gymnast. He suppressed his smile as he felt his heart race again, just as it did when he felt her hands wrapped around his waist while they jetted through the city, ten minutes late for their shuttle ride.

Larae Fey Cross was the of daughter of Owen and Enaid Fey Cross, a Science Cadet extraordinaire, a pool and poker hustler (but don't tell her parents) and probably the straight up funnest person he knew (don't tell her father that either).

Renaldo dismounted the Triumph and removed the keys. A Valet Bot was moving toward them.

"RJ, I'll meet you inside!" Larae flashed him a smiled and raced through the front doors of the shuttle station, her shortly cut espresso coloured hair fanned out as she raced for the building's double doors. Renaldo could feel himself smiling as he watched her sprint. His robin eggs blue skin was a strict contrast against his jet black hair.

[Will you be needing long term parking, sir?] politely asked the Valet Bot.

"Yes," replied the Cadet. He produced his credit chit and touched an edge against the Bot's transaction panel. Had the A.I. been sentient it would have been impressed by the logo on the card.

Cadet Renaldo Dover was the son of Captain Renn, Commanding Officer of the _USS Tesla_ , and Mandy Elizabeth Dover (Starfleet Ret.), heiress and owner of one of the Federation's largest chocolate exporters. One would be hard pressed to guess his species until they learned he was half Human and half Bolian. His handsome face was devoid of the bifurcating ridge that ran vertically through the face and head of his Bolian heritage until one noticed it under his hair line where it ran over his skull and down his back. His eyes were equally as dark as his hair.

Trusting the care of the Triumph to the Shuttle Ports parking droids, the Cadet punched his hands into his leather bomber jacket pockets and made his way towards the entrance doors. He caught his reflection in a panel window as he approached the building. Under his jacket he wore his Second Year Academy uniform with the Red Squad Security designation. The pride he felt was unsuppressed. Despite the privileged life (one could say), he knew he had earned both his place and rank in the squad through sheer hard work and dedication alone.

Because he had taken the last name of his mother, few knew of his relation to his father, or the legacy of the _Bonaventure_ name. But how could he not push himself to be where he was? Considering who he grew up with, and the circle of friends who raised him there were few choices he'd rather take in the path to his future. The _Bonaventure_ was in his blood.

He walked through the double doors of the shuttle port.

"RJ!" Ahead he heard Larae's voice over the mob of people waiting in lines.

RJ. Few people called him that, but Larae was one of them. RJ - Renn Junior. Renaldo. The most cherished memories of his childhood were the summers and holidays spent at the Chateau, the bed and breakfast mansion on Lake George in Upstate New York, Earth. Hell, he practically grew up there, rubbing elbows, learning lessons, getting into trouble and playing with his extended family:

Larae, Piper, Uncle Owen, Aunt Enaid, and Uncle Mike, Marcus and Marie, and Aunt Cass, Caden, Aunt Karen and Uncle Austin, Aunt Haddy, Uncle K, Uncle Luther, Uncle Frankie, Aunt Jhanna and Uncle Charles, and when possible Aunt Kate, Uncle Vril, Admiral Kri, Aunt Tirin and Seleesa. And last, there were holodeck visits with Uncle Kerovan, Aunt T'Val, T'Kay and Elany.

Renaldo made his way through the line to where Larae held a spot for him.

He was old enough now to know that his extended family really weren't his aunt and uncles, or their kids his cousins. He mentally shook his head. No, they were closer, or at least his 'cousins' were more like brother and sisters. They were a tight group, and knew each others secrets, hopes and dreams as they bonded over their shared linage -The _Bonaventure_.

He remembered summer nights, Thanksgivings and Winter holidays spent listening raptly to the stories told by Aunt Haddy, Aunt Kate, Uncle K - K'Liver, or his father himself:

 _The Bonnie vs. The Klingons_

 _The Bonnie vs. Admiral Cartwright_

 _The Bonnie vs. The Neural Parasites_

 _The Bonnie vs. the Gorn (in an arena too!)_

 _The Bonnie vs. the Optimums_

Or the reserved favourite - _The Chronicles of the Taurus Flee_ t. It was a tale told by all the adults of the extended family. It begun with Uncle Owen and ended with Aunt Cass. She cried at the end, sometimes quietly, and sometimes so much that she couldn't finish, and Aunt Karen did.

Renaldo shivered at the memory.

And always at the family gatherings there was a moment of honour for those who weren't there, those that Renaldo grew up knowing his parents, and friends owed their lives to.

Chief T'Mel

Captain Solkar

Communication's Specialist Kenneth Metcalfe (Aunt Kate's brother)

Junior Senator Lara Cross (Uncle Owen's sister)

Lt. P'Ree (Uncle Owen's first wife)

Medical Yeoman Tara O'Neil (his mother's best and dearest friend)

Yeoman T'Kay

Lady W'Nee

Petty Officer Wexella, and Petty Officer Kess-An - (both his mother's other dearest friends)

Fleet Captain Jexe O'Dag

Admiral Jas VanHorne

The Admiral. VanHorne. Fleet Captain. O'Dag. Though Renaldo had seen their holo images and avatars many times, based on how his extended family spoke of each with a sense of reverence he knew their facsimiles did little justice.

Yes, he had to admit that he was where he was today because of his family - real and extended. He edged himself closer to where Larae stood looking up at the Arrival/Departure board. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit there were other reasons.

When had his feeling for Larae become real? He didn't know, and if he did it didn't matter? All of her thoughts (and gazes) were for Marcus O'Dag, even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone. Marcus with the preternatural eyes. Marcus with the perfect body, and extraordinary strength. And it wasn't that he hated Marcus - there was nothing to hate about him. They were the best of friends. Renaldo fondly remembered their times backpacking through Tellar Prime to the crash site of the original _Bonnie_ (crashed by Larae's father, Owen ironically), to their plans for their band – Fortuna. Marcus was on drums, Caden on vocals and keyboard while he took up bass and the Klingon guitar.

No, he couldn't hate Marcus because Larae wanted him. After all hadn't many of them had their flings growing up? Marie O'Dag was his first love over the summer they were together when he was 14. He remembered his father and Aunt Cass joking about arranged marriages, but in the end it was Marie who broke his heart. Maybe it was for the best. He was young, and inexperienced. What could he have that Marie would want? Marie with her preternatural eyes. Marie with the perfect body and perceptive mind.

He scoffed. He just had to be patient. Marie broke his heart, and in time Marcus would do the same to Larae - and he would he there for her. Stopping next to Larae he could sense there was something wrong. Tracking her gaze he studied the flight status board.

With the _Bonaventure-C's_ Commissioning ceremony only hours away Conestoga City was gripped in the chaos it was causing. The arrival of foreign dignitaries had all transporter hubs overwhelmed as they were now reserved only for the VIP invitees of the event. That left only the local shuttle ports as the only way to make it to the orbital platform high above Terra Nova. Renaldo and Larae only learned this fact on their arrival to the closest hub from where they were staying at their Aunt Haddy's flat, blocks away from the Starfleet Tactical building.

Realizing their plight they rushed back to the flat where Renaldo sent a hastily composed letter to his extended aunt - Lt. Commander Hadleigh Park, away on a mission near Delta - about their intention to borrow her bike. Twenty minutes later after speeding, lane splitting and riding on sidewalks they made it to the closest shuttle port.

"Lar ... what's going on?" asked Renaldo. He tired to make sense of the board. The young Cadet shook her espresso locks.

"No, no, no, this isn't good!" she pointed and he saw what she meant. Ships and other vessels were being relocated and reassign new berthing coordinates to make room for an arriving vessel – the _USS Edison_.

"Dad's ship, Ren ... he's here!"

The Security Cadet furrowed his brow. "I ... I don't understand?" he said.

"I never told him I made Red Squad. He thinks I'm still on Earth at Starfleet Academy."

"What?"

"You know how _protective_ he is - he's been grooming me for a commission in the Science Division ... on a star base!"

"But ... "

"Oh God, he's going to kill me. Let ... let me just think!"

Lacing her fingers behind her head she glanced upwards in thought, chest out, hips cocked. Renaldo felt himself go breathless off her provocative pose.

 _*Ancestors ... you're a goddess!*_ he thought.

She closed her eyes. "Okay ... dad's here, but ... but it can't just be for me."

"Right. If he knew he'd contact you directly."

"Exactly. So ... if he is here, then why?" She opened her eyes and looked at him with her devil-may-care grin.

"I don't know," he answered. "but I bet when we get up there we'll find out."

"Aye that."

Turning back they looked at the stasis board together. Renaldo felt his heart beat faster. If her father was there on the _Edison_ that meant another distinct possibility - Marcus and Marie were with him too.

 **Cadet Renaldo Dover**

 **2nd year Cadet**

 **Red Squad**

 **Cadet Larae Fey Cross - 1st year Cadet - Red Squad**

 _ **USS Bonaventure**_ **NCC-1745-C**


	12. Enro Jaxa pt 3

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 **Enro Jaxa" pt. 3**

by illusionna

Lantin Ri's cottage

Janitza Village, Dahkur, Bajor

Summer 2319

Metkaff Katrys sat in her front yard, her five fanged-geese gaggling about her at the cracked desert grain she'd thrown them for a treat. The gander was currently occupied with both grain and the gotha-dog sitting by the vegetable garden, so that his mind was not on his nemesis of the past four years—the woman in the wooden chair who spoke into the data PADD.

After five years, Katrys would have figured that she would have exhausted words for the Universal Translator Dictionary in Bajoran, but new one always cropped up in conversations she overheard. Not only that, but words had to be amended, by meaning, by nuance, by pronunciation. Her name was going to be attached this project, it was her crowning achievement in a life already filled with honours, she was going to make sure the program translated the words into Federation Standard correctly, even if she had to make sure it was right in Cardassian first.

"Heliograph," she said to the PADD. "A pictorial rendition of the state of a star. The heliograph shows that a solar flare is immanent." She was proud of herself that she was able to put the word immanent in the definition. She repeated the sentence in Cardassian, again using the word immanent, and then in Standard. It was detailed, and often redundant, but there was a soothing pattern to it. Patterns gave her mind something to concentrate on, so that it did not go off on it's own, to places she'd rather not visit in it.

The challenge of this project never failed to fill her with delight. She knew she could easily get caught up in the words, in the sounds of voices around her talking, simply listening to other people live, and not living her own life. It was something that she'd been fussed at about her her life.

"You have to make friends," her best friend, Mira, told her eight months after she had arrived on Bajor. Master Chief Petty Officer Mira O'Tal was the archivist on the _USS Tertiary._ She'd been on-board that ship since Katrys had gone to reserve duty for Star Fleet, but the two had diligently kept in touch.

"I have friends," Katrys had told her, pouting.

"Who?" the archivist demanded.

"Lots of people!" she insisted.

"Name them—real friends. People who would help you move on a Saturday." Mira pointed at the screen.

Katrys' shoulders dropped. The old Earth cliché had stumped her. There was no one she would feel comfortable asking to help her move on a Saturday. Or any day, for that matter.

"You cant' just go to public places and eavesdrop on people," Mira admonished. "You have to actually talk to them."

"I was hired to eavesdrop on people!" Katrys insisted at the image on the screen of her best friend.

"You were hired to learn the language," Mira corrected. "Ah-!" she held up a finger when Katrys tried to protest. "Learning a language includes speaking it. Even I know that."

"I do speak it," Katrys had almost whined.

"To who?" Mira asked again.

"I have to speak it to live here," Katrys' voice grew annoyed. "I have to buy food, and deliver supplies, and ask where the toilet is!"

"And swear?" Mira smiled.

"You always learn the swear words first," Katrys shrugged. "I can swear with the best of the Bajora." She winked.

"Do me a favour," Mira said.

Katrys had sighed, because whenever Mira asked for a favor, she always obliged. "Yes?"

"Make friends," Mira told her. "You had out supplies at the clinic, at least make work friends."

So Katrys had tried to make work friends.

When she delivered supplies, she was usually accompanied by a small group of Cardassians lead by Dalin Alin Padarl, under the command of Katrys' Cardassian liaison, Gul Jarok. Padarl was a formidable woman, obviously on the fast track in her career. Her two subordinates that accompanied her each delivery to the surface did what she instructed with an exacting precision that made Katrys feel downright sloppy.

"With your attention to detail on your language translation," Padarl had said once, "I would have thought you would have more attention to detail when handing out medical supplies."

Katrys had smiled nastily. "I hand out medical supplies to those who can distribute them, Alin," she said, using the other woman's given name. "I don't hand them out the patients individually. As you said, I'm a linguist, not a doctor."

One of the people who could distribute them was a young doctor named Lantin Ri. He worked in clinic in the middle of Jalanda city, where medical provisions were donated and were always in short supply. He rarely spoke to her, often glancing up at to watch her in what she thought was disdain. After all, she didn't really belong in a clinic at all, much less one that served the poor and destitute.

But it was a good place to talk to people, so she frequented it, and after Mira had admonished her to make friends, she even talked to the people who worked there more often. While several would brusquely shove off her attempts at small talk, several did not, and she was greeted with smiles and hugs when she arrived three times a week.

She got to know all the gossip, and not just by listening. By joining in the conversation, she was told the juiciness of clinic-work life without eavesdropping, and was able to ask questions. It was through those questions that she found out Lantin Ri was the grandson of the Kai, the spiritual leader of the Bajora. The fact that he was working in such a place as this was a great honor to the establishment and those that nursed and were nursed within its walls.

"But is he a good doctor?" Katrys had asked.

One of the women smiled at her indulgently. "It doesn't matter," she said. "He's a doctor and he's here, helping those who cannot help themselves."

It was short after that conversation that Ri had asked her to come walking with him after their daily work was finished. She had thought nothing of the difference in vocabulary between going for a walk, and coming for a walk. After all, the goal was to walk, was it not?

It wasn't until the evening had ended that she had inkling that coming for a walk meant something she didn't quite understand.

"I have some wine sent to me from my home. I haven't opened it yet, would you like to try some with me?" He looked at her expectantly, his strong jaw holding a small smile, his light brown hair swept about his forehead carelessly. He was a good looking man, she could tell that even not being Bajora. But, his voice was beautiful to Katrys' ears. She could have listened to him talk for days and said a word, simply closed her eyes and let the sounds engulf her. She had let him do most of the talking during their walk for that very reason, his voice and the words of the Bajorian language seemed to go perfectly together, and in her mind, she decided _that_ was Bajoran. So that she could continue to hear him talk, she agreed.

Then it hit her he'd invited her into his apartment for a glass of wine.

Pouring the dark orange liquid into a fluted bowl, he had said, "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Don't I?" she asked. "My family tells me that I never shut up."

He sat down close to her, holding his bowl up. "My family tells me I'm a dreamer." He smiled widely. "To family!"

She clinked her bowl to his, the sound resonating in a lovely pitch through the small room. "How can your family think you're a dreamer?" she asked. "Look at the good your are doing! You aren't dreaming about it!"

He shrugged and urged her to drink. Then, he propped his hand up with his hand on the back of the small couch and listened as she spoke, the bottle of wine diminishing as the night went on. She couldn't remember now what she was talking about, but she remembered vividly what he said to interupt her.

"You have eyes the same colour as the ocean?"

Said eyes squinted in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

He laughed. "I've never seen your eye colour before. It's the same colour as the ocean." He leaned into her a little closer, as if examining. "Have you ever been to the ocean?"

"Not on Bajor," she said. "On my homeworld, I grew up not far from the ocean, in a city named Boston."

"I grew up on a village named Janitza," he replied softly. "It's in the mountains, no where near the ocean."

Then his lips and been on hers, and the night had been a whirlwind of feelings, both emotional and physical, she'd not felt in years. And so were the nights after that one.

When he decided to go back home, the Janitza village, and he asked her to come with him, she'd not had a second thought before saying yes. _I can study language anywhere on the planet. Why would I give up my bedroom dictionary?_

So here she was, watching the fanged-gander out of the corner of her eyes, lest he decide to come at her in some vain attempt to either force him to join his flock or drive her away from his four, quite capable of taking care of themselves, wives. It wasn't ever quite clear which he was doing.

"Ri!" a young voice called. Over the rise of their yard, a girl came running, her face bright red from exertion. She caught sight of Katrys as she stood up and put the data PADD on the chair. "Katrys!" the girl called. "Where's Ri?"

"I'm here," he said, coming out of the house. "What's the matter?"

"You have to come to Sito's dwelling, quick," the girl said, out of breath. "Saka is having her baby!"

Ri's face broke out into a wide smile. "Into the personal transport, ladies," he said, motioning to the vehicle not far away. "I have a baby to catch."


	13. Enro Jaxa pt 4

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 **"Enro Jaxa" pt. 4**

 **by illusionna**

 **Sito's dwelling**

 **Janitza Village, Dhakur, Bajor**

 **summer 2319**

Katrys sat outside the dwelling. When The Kai arrived, home from dealing with the state functions, Katrys and many others had been ushered out. Slowly, individuals had been invited back in, until only Katrys was left in the yard. She wasn't one of Sito's family. _Just because Ri is part of her family, doesn't mean I am,_ she reminded herself. _Living with a man doesn't make you family._

She'd experienced the sharp difference more than once. Despite wearing the ear-pierce that denoted her as one of the Bajora, she was not one, and no one around her considered her one. She had thought, at first, that their reticence to accept her had been due to the small nature of the village. It was tight knit group, made up of only three extended families, one of whom was the current Kai, the spiritual leader of the Bajoran people. But her contact with the Earth native humans that she had been in touch with over the past five years made her realize that their issues in truly being seen as part of the culture were just as difficult as theirs. More so, Katrys often pitied them, for unlike her, they were anthropologists. Even the few who had swum the river, and been accepted by The Kai as to belong to a family, were not fully integrated and, like her, they had connections in some shape form or fashion.

Let any of the Bajora tell her that The Kai was not a political position. She'd laugh in their faces.

She carried one of the porch chairs to the large yard, where a huge flock of fanged geese gaggled about and sat down in it. She and Ri had gotten their small flock from Sito's, however Sito's ganders were nowhere near as mean as her and Ri's. _Must get it from his mother's side,_ Katrys thought.

A rustling caught her attention. Turning to the tall grasses that edged Sito's front yard before it began to slope up the mountain, she saw Enro Jaxa poke half of his body out. She smiled and waved to him. He lifted his hand gingerly and waved back.

When she stood up to approach him, he made to disappear back into the grass. She froze. "Hello, Jaxa," she said. She always made an effort to call him by his first name, despite that her mind called him 'Enro', just like the villagers did. She didn't fully understand that sentiment behind the practice, merely that it was a type of veiled insult, something to do with 'not belonging'. Not belonging, she'd learned within her first few weeks on Bajor, was a big deal.

Enro pointed to several of the geese, all of them clucked happily and made a beeline for the man. "They like you," he said.

She laughed, "I think they are just polite," she replied, leaning on the back of the chair. "Why don't you go inside and see what's happening? You haven't had your midday meal yet, have you?" The sun was high in the sky, delineating the morning from the afternoon.

He looked longingly toward the house, then shook his bearded head. His eyes, not quite large enough and not sporting any brow-ridges between them, looked pained for a moment. "No," he drawled.

She didn't argue with him. She knew if she tried, she would run him off.

" _He's trepidatious around strangers," Ri told her. "I suppose you would be too, if you'd been ridiculed all off your life."_

" _What happened to him?" she'd managed to ask one day._

" _He suffers from a genetic anomaly that affects his phenotype," Ri replied, his voice curt._

" _I can tell that," Katrys pressed. "He has no brow ridges."_

 _He glared at her, lips pressed together. "There's a lot of other little things, too. What does it matter?"_

" _Because he's here, and everyone treats him different."_

" _He is different," Ri snapped._

" _Because of something he can't help!" Katrys shot back._

" _Have you ever had to deal with someone who stunted in their mind, but not in their body?" he asked, his patience wearing thin._

 _Katrys blushed. "No," she admitted. She'd been granted a rather idyllic existence by fate. While she had dealt with more than her share of adversity, it had all been short lived and none of it involved any social maneuvering. You didn't have to socially maneuver when you were the only person in a room full of delegates who spoke a language without a translator. Having a pretty smile helped too, she'd been told more than once._

" _It isn't easy," Ri told her. "They hurt people. They don't mean to, but they do."_

" _Who has he hurt?" She'd never seen any evidence that Enro Jaxa hurt anyone, but then, she'd only been here for a few years._

" _No one," Ri's brow ridges wrinkled even more._

" _What kind of argument is that?" she demanded._

" _They do!" He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "Just because he hasn't doesn't mean he isn't capable of it. It something that everyone who deals with this kind of issue has to handle delicately."_

" _What is the nature of his genetic anomaly?" she asked._

 _Ri looked at her like she was a three-taloned buzzard. "I have no idea."_

" _Why not?" Her voice betrayed her shock. He was a native son of this village, a doctor returned to his home. "How can you not know what was wrong with one of your relatives?"_

" _Everyone in this valley is one of my relatives!"_

" _Don't you want to know what is wrong with him?" she asked. "What if his genetic anomaly is inherited?"_

" _It doesn't matter," he waved his hand._

" _What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" She stood up, ocean-coloured eyes wide. She thought she'd never heard something so callous in all of her life._

" _Because there isn't anything that can be done about it," Ri stood up too, large eyes squinted in anger._

" _How do you know if you don't know what's wrong with him?" She threw her hands up in the air._

" _I already told you, he has a genetic anomaly!" Ri seethed, his voice quiet._

" _You don't know what the anomaly is?" she asked, amazed. "Have you've done any studies? No one has done any studies?"_

" _You don't understand," Ri turned from her._

" _You're right," she shot at his back before turning to the door of their cottage. "I don't understand. Where I come from, doctors try to help people. Maybe it's different here!" She marched out, slamming the door behind her._

 _She walked for hours in the mountainside, alternating between indignant rage at how cavalier Ri was being, and guilt from her nasty parting comment. She was capable of_ _ **much**_ _nastier comments, but tried very hard not to throw barbs at people. "Just because you and your brother are good at words," her mother used to tell them, "doesn't mean that you should abuse them." It was something both she and her brother Kenneth had taken to heart._

 _It began to get dark, and she decided to settle in a small dell for the night. It was pleasantly cool, the sounds of insects was soothing, and being exhausted by anger, it took her little time to fall asleep._

 _She was quite intent of gathering her trunk of personal items and heading back to the city upon her return to Ri's cottage, when she opened the door to see Sito, Ri, several of their cousins and The Kai herself at Ri's kitchen table. All looked to her with great relief on their faces as she closed the door behind her, her own visage still a mask of annoyance._

" _Oh, thank the gods," Ri breathed, jumping up and running to her to engulf her in a hug. "I've been worried sick!"_

" _I told you she was alright," Sito said with a smile, rising from the table and patting Ri on the shoulder. "She's a tough little thing."_

" _All I did was camp out in the woods," Katrys said, pushing away from her lover. "Just up the rise."_

" _There are wild animals in the woods," one of Ri's cousins said. "You could have gotten eaten."_

 _The annoyance faded from Katrys' face to be replaced confusion. "It's the woods outside our house," she repeated. "I've stayed in way more dangerous places-"_

" _Storming out when you have an argument worries your loved ones, child," The Kai said, gently shoving Ri to the side and putting both of her hands on Katrys' shoulders._

 _At forty one, Katrys was hardly a child, but she was not about to tell The Kai so. In fact, she's probably done more living in her four decades than the Kai had in all of hers. "Storming out was better than what would have occurred if I'd stayed, your grace," she said tightly._

 _The Kai smiled, as if she understood what Katrys was saying, and it rankled the human. "Ri will take you to the River at the next swimming," she said, tracing both of Katrys' ears in a sweet fashion. Then she'd left._

 _It was that day that Katrys decided to call Enro Jaxa by his given name._

At the moment, three years later, Enro looked longingly at Sito's dwelling, then back to the geese that were now cackling about his feet.

"It might be a while before the baby comes," Katrys said. "You live there. You can go in."

Enro shook his head again, but smiled through his unkempt beard. Why his family didn't take better care of him, Katrys had yet to figure out. Something like this would never have been allowed to happen to someone on Earth. Well, to a citizen of the Federation on Earth, at least.

"You're going to infect Saka's baby with your lice, Enro," came an ugly voice from the grass. It was almost sing-songy as it continued. "You'd better not go near Sito's dwelling before you take a proper bath."

Katrys recognized the young man's voice instantly—Lantin Tasho. The boy greatly disliked her, which was fine, because he greatly disliked him back. "When was the last time you took a bath, Tasho?" she asked, taking another step toward the grass.

The young man's face popped out first, then the rest of his body, his lip upturned in disgust. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" she asked back.

Tasho rolled his eyes. "Is the baby born yet?"

"Is your mother home yet?" Katrys cocked her hip out and put her hand on it.

Tasho glared at her. "No," he said through clenched teeth.

"Then probably not. Go home and tell your father he's going to have to make his own midday meal."

The look on the young man's face didn't change, but he did break eye contact with her. He turned to Enro, glared at him for a moment longer, before turning to go. Then, he slowly turned back to Katrys, the look of vitriol in his eyes almost frightening. "My father says you can't hide behind Ri and the Kai forever, Earther."

Katrys pursed her lips together, her cheeks rosying in anger. She began to stride toward Tasho, and saw Enro out of the corner of her eye disappear into the grass, in the direction of Sito's orchards. Tasho did not move, an anticipatory smile began blooming on his face. "You should really learn the language," she said in perfect, unaccented Bajora, "if you are going to insult people with it." Her voice was as cold as her blue-gray eyes.

Tasho parted his legs to steady himself, his shoulders tightening. "Really?" he sang.

"Yes," she continued, closing the distance between them quickly. The cackling of the fanged-geese in the grass caught her attention for a moment. "It's Earthling. Or Earth native. Or human. Or human being. Or even Terran, if a native is in a good mood. Earther is something you made up."

"I did not!" The boy drew his hand up in a half fist, as if threatening to throw a punch.

He wasn't able to do whatever it was he was planning, because he suddenly found himself on his knees, pain shooting through his middle finger down his arm to his shoulder and round his back, tears forming his eyes. Metcafe Katrys was standing over him, seemingly not exerting any effort at all, holding his finger backwards.

"An old friend of mine taught me this," she said quietly. "I've downed an angry Orion man with it, but you don't know what an Orion is, do you?"

Tasho blinked.

"Go home, Tasho," she said. "Tell your father that your mother will be back when this baby business is all taken care of, and I will be kind enough not to tell your cousin Ri what you relayed your father said about me." She released his hand and took a step back.

The young man leapt up, nursing his hand and glowered at her before turning and walking back into the grasses.

Katrys sighed. "Jaxa," she called gently. "You still here?"

But all that answered her was the cackle of fanged-geese.

 **Metcalfe Katrys**

 **United Federation of Planets representative linguist to Bajor**

 **Enro Jaxa**

 **Lantin Tasho**


	14. Unwanted Guest pt 1

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 **"Unwanted Guest"**

 **by Paul B**

 **2311** – _**USS Valley Forge**_

 _Excelsior Class_ Starship

At the closing of _The Tomed Incident_

"They made a mistake on Algeron. It's a big one, and we may come to regret it."

Admiral Nechayev, Commander of the Eighth Fleet, set his glass down on the conference room table. The hulking man of sixty-three still commanded an imposing figure, but years of sitting behind a desk in place of the chair of a starship had started to take away from his physique. He reached across the table, and ignoring the stewards that were clearing the last of the victory dinner, he picked at a turkey bone from a platter.

"A huge mistake," Nechayev mumbled.

K'rilish motioned at the stewards to leave the room. There were still celebrations taking place throughout the ship and he was aware that the galley staff had not yet partaken in theirs. They nodded appreciatively, and they filed out of the room.

"We averted a war," K'rilish said when the last steward had left. He reached for the bottle of cognac across from him and he slid it toward Nechayev. "We can handle the conditions that were made to gain peace."

"We got peace…over an _incident_ ," Nechayev said in a derisive tone. "That's what the politicians are calling it to lessen the historical impact. They are calling it the Tomed Incident. Sounds nice and boring, eh?"

K'rilish shrugged. "I am not a historian, Sir."

The answer was not what Nechayev wanted to hear. He grabbed the cognac bottle and he filled his glass. Taking it in hand, he walked around to the table toward one of the windows that lined the back wall of conference room. The windows overlooked the _Valley Forge's_ aft saucer section and its port and starboard nacelles; a view that often caught most onlookers by surprise.

"The Romulans took cloaking technology away from us," Nechayev continued. "They killed tens of thousands of our people, lay waste to colonies in our space near the Neutral Zone, and we push them back just to end up in the same spot before it all started. That doesn't bother you in the least, K'rilish."

It was one of those questions that, coming from a higher-ranking officer, K'rilish had reluctantly learned to be careful in answering. He liked Nechayev, but he was also a career officer and a very ambitious one. Left out of the negotiation at Algeron, he chafed at what he saw as Starfleet Command shutting him out from any further advancement.

Seeing that Nechayev wanted an answer, K'rilish crossed his arms and he rested them against his chest. "We move on, Sir. We accept the situation, and we work to deal with it. The Romulans have cloaking technology, so we work to ensure that our defensive capacities will always outweigh their advantage in that area."

Nechayev responded with an angry grunt. "That was a safe answer, K'rilish. Tell me what is on your fragging mind!"

"I just said them, Sir."

"You think I don't know?" Nechayev said. He turned his anger toward K'rilish. "You think I didn't know The Club didn't call you and asked for your advice?"

The Club. That was Nechayev called Starfleet Command when he was being vitriolic. Soon, he would become insulting and K'rilish had had enough of his behaviour especially on a day that had started out with one of celebration.

"You're drunk, Sir, and I advise you to go sleep it off."

"Yes, I am drunk," Nechayev said. He took his glass and he deliberately set it on the sill of one of the windows to annoy K'rilish. "But at least I am being _honest_. As for you, it appears that you've learned how to play the game, and now you're an admiral."

Claws tips began to dig into the fine linen that covered the conference room table, but K'rilish kept his composure. He said, "I can have someone escort you to quarters, Admiral, if you are not feeling well."

"This is technically my ship in my fleet," Nechayev countered.

"Not anymore it isn't."

The two locked eyes. They would not see each other again for the next three years and that would be at Nechayev's funeral. By then, he would have resigned from Starfleet; his alcoholism hidden behind a shiny new medal and well-wishes by those who never liked him.

"Fuck it," Nechayev said. He snatched the cognac bottle from the table and he headed for the exit. He was not without an insult, and it was one that K'rilish would think about as he gave a warm speech at the man's funeral years later.

"Don't think that I can't see right through you, K'rilish. You wanted a war as much as I did, and what pisses me off is that The Club knows it. That's why they are kicking you upstairs instead of me."

 **2319 Terra Nova**

Homespun

"We are arriving at your home, Sir."

K'rilish opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the back seat of the air car, a bad habit that came when riding in the things. Looking through the window next to him, he saw the acres of corn fields blur past below.

Homespun. It was an odd name that he never could get used to, but Tirin had liked it. The previous owners, Novans who had laid claim to the land since the settling of Terra Nova, had given it that name. Elderly, and with no children to take the farm, they had sold it to K'rilish fifteen years earlier when he had used the last of his back pay from Starfleet to purchase it. The farm was not for him as it was for Tirin who had turned it into one of the largest charitable food operations on the planet. The organization she founded, and now ran, was also called Homespun.

The air car slowed as the driver switched it over to automatic pilot. The car moved nimbly past several of the windmills that flanked the outer circumference of the house and its multiple outbuildings. Pumping water from the aquifer that served the crops, the windmills also supplied power to the home, buildings, and the charging stations of the maintenance droids that kept the fifteen-hundred-acre partial in operation.

On his off days and vacations, K'rilish tended to the maintenance of the farm, but outside of that he was largely hands off. Running Starfleet Tactical was enough, and Tirin knew this. She thrived on working on the farm and with most of the crops being donated to feed refugees and starving planets, she could care less that the only profit she kept was to keep the place running. The farm was also located near a Caitian settlement and had been a perfect place to raise a child and half Caitian and Kzin grandson.

For some reason now, the sanctity of the place that K'rilish had enjoyed for over a decade now felt as if it were a respite. He tried not to turn his thoughts to the _Bonaventure_ , and the orders that Starfleet Command had given him.

Having reached its descent coordinates, the air car paused and hovered for a second as it adjusted its thrusters to vertical intake. The car was descending toward a marked parking area where a gravel road let up to the main house and one of the barns. He noticed the field hauler, a truck with large tires was out by the house.

His daughter Seleesa was standing next to it and she was throwing a bag in the back. From where K'rilish was seated in the air car, she looked almost exactly like her mother. She had maroon fur and a bright red main that she had pulled back in a ponytail. At times she even acted like Tirin by the way she walked and laughed, but it was her temper and pig-headed nature that she got from K'rilish. She had been a handful whereas raising Charl, his grandson, should have been the challenging task.

"Where's she going to now?" K'rilish said to himself.

"Excuse me, Sir?" the driver asked.

"Nothing," K'rilish answered. He grabbed his jacket as soon as the air car touched down. "Come back tomorrow morning at zero seven hundred."

"Yes, Sir."

K'rilish waited for the green safety light above the door to signal that it was safe to disembark. He opened the door that swung upward, and he climbed out. He slammed the door shut and soon as he stepped out of the landing area, the driver thumbed the thrusters and the car shot off at an angle across the front of the house. The ducks from the pond that K'rilish had dug out for Tirin began to quack and flap their wings in a frenzy. From the air car, the sound of rock music reverberated from the windows.

"I'll get you for that tomorrow, smartass!" K'rilish growled.

He walked along the drive toward the house and the hauler. Upon seeing him, Saleesa smiled.

"What are you doing?" K'rilish asked.

"The drone out on sixteen is down again," Saleesa said. She tossed a tool box into the back of the hauler. "If I don't get it working the blight could overrun the whole crop out there so I'm going to have to monitor it to make sure it doesn't go down again. I think it needs a full rebuild."

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"I don't think so," Saleesa answered. She stopped, and she raised her ears. "What's up, _Rassa_? You look annoyed."

 _Rassa_ was the Caitian colloquialism for father. She also said "dad" at times, but that was usually when she was mad and protesting something.

"Nothing," K'rilish said. He looked towards the house. "Where's your mother?"

"In her office yelling at the admins," Saleesa answered. "She's protesting the changes they want to make to the export bill."

Knowing Tirin's anger and her passion for work, K'rilish knew that it was going to be an interesting evening.

"Red alert?" he asked. He smiled at Saleesa.

"You bet," Saleesa answered. She approached K'rilish, and in the Caitian tradition, she brushed her cheek against his. "I'll be back in the morning. Okay?"

"Be back before seven if you can. I'll be gone a few days."

"I promise!" Seleesa said. She hopped into the driver's seat of the truck. "Oh, I forgot, Uncle Stahl is here!"

"What does Luther want?"

"I'm not sure, but he's eating your leftover chicken."

Before K'rilish could ask anything else, Saleesa started the truck. She hit the accelerator and the battery powered vehicle kicked up rooster tail of gravel as she started down one of the service roads. K'rilish yelled at her to slow down but it was no avail.

Responding with an annoyed grunt he started up the path to the house. He reached the porch that circled the home and he saw Luther Stahl seated at one of the wicker chairs. The man, now pushing fifty, had a plate of left over fried chicken on his lap and a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt. He was munching on a drum stick and watching a viewer that someone had set up on a nearby table. A soccer game was playing.

"H'lo," Luther said. He didn't look at K'rilish while he chewed on his food.

"Help yourself," K'rilish said with a note of sarcasm. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago. Tirin was yelling at some people so she told me to make myself at home," Luther replied. He reached for a glass of iced tea. "I hope you don't mind."

"I meant when did you get to Terra Nova?" K'rilish corrected.

"Oh!" Luther replied. He looked at K'rilish and he jabbed a finger nail between his teeth to extract a piece of chicken. "This morning. Man, Kri, the traffic was crazy! I know this planet is always busy, but the orbital patrols were out guiding ships into orbit. They said Spacedock Three is at capacity! They were accepting Federation starships only."

"You haven't heard," K'rilish said. He looked at Luther who may have been from another universe. "The _Bonaventure-C_?"

Luther took another bite out of his drumstick. He started to chew when his mouth dropped open. "Oh! The _Bonnie's_ back! I forgot!"

K'rilish squinted at Luther and he waved his tail in a suspicious manner. He took in the wrinkled suit, scuffed shoes, and the five o'clock shadow on his face.

"Are the Orion's looking for you again?"

Luther paused, and he swallowed his food in a large gulp. "Uh, no."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Clean, five years. You know that."

Something was amiss. K'rilish pulled his ears back and he pointed a claw at Luther. "You stay right there and eat your damn chicken!"

Luther blinked as K'rilish headed for the door into the home. "Oookay…I wasn't planning on doing anything else. Hey, do you have any more iced tea?"

K'rilish opened the door and he slammed it behind him.

"Get it yourself!"


	15. Unwanted Guest pt 2

This is an active role playing group. If you'd like to join the fun, please contact cpvanhorne

 **"Unwanted Guest" Pt 2**

by Paul B

 **2319 - Terra Nova**

Homespun

 _Continued…._

Tirin was in her study. The main viewer on the wall across from her desk was on and some functionary from Conestoga in a green suit was staring at her with a pale face. K'rilish stopped at the doorway and he watched her wave a PADD in her hand about while she carried on with an angry invective.

"These people were promised food, and we signed an agreement with them! You cannot be so stupid as to turn back the word of Federation citizens. Do you?"

"Now, Tirin, you..just need…to listen," the man said. "The legislature just wants to open the bill up for review. There is a clause…"

Tirin's tail whipped form side to side angrily. She flicked her head to one side to throw back her long red mane from her shoulders as she glared at the monitor. "Don't quibble with me, Jack! I know the clause and it relates to shipping problems reducing quota…. not the quota itself."

"The quota's you set are raising the shipping charges and we have to foot them!" the man, Jack, protested. "That gives us a…"

"I know some Boomer friends who will take the current prices as they are. That's in the contract we negotiated." Tirin shot back. She gave a quick motion of her hand to the viewer. Before the Jack could respond, the viewer went blank.

"The fools!" Tirin yelled. She turned and tossed the PADD she was holding on her desk. Pulling her ears back, she extended her claws and she gave a frustrated yell. "Gargh!"

Having watched the exchanged, K'rilish was amused. He was leaning against the doorway when Tirin realized he was watching. She raised her ears with alarm and her tail stopped whipping about.

"Kri? How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," K'rilish said. He smiled. "Did I hear that you were going to contact Boomers to deliver food?"

"Yes," Tirin answered. "The admins of this planet don't like me giving most of our crops away. They talk a good deal of not being profit minded, but they do like to quibble about shipping costs on their overhead."

"The truth is operating any space going vessel has a cost. Deuterium and antimatter production aren't cheap," K'rilish replied.

Tirin raised her ears. "So, you agree with the admins?"

"No, you run this operation. I'm just looking at everything from all sides. It's my job."

"There are two hundred thousand Erbani in need of food now that their planet is recovering from the results of geological cataclysm. If we don't help them until their planet's ecology is stabilized they will die. I'm not living with that, Kri."

"And that's why the Terra Novan Trade Union know better than try to contact me to help them out over your squabble with them," K'rilish said. He quickly changed the subject knowing that Tirin would not let the matter go for the rest of the day. "I see that Luther is here."

Tirin pressed her fingers to her eyes and she let out a heavy sigh. "I forgot! I'm sorry. I should have told you that he called two days ago."

"What does he want this time?"

"Don't you start," Tirin said. She pulled her ears back and she looked at K'rilish. "Luther's business went under, and Dominic was just placed on academic review at his university. It's been stressful for him."

Dominic was Luther's son and the product of a failed marriage when Luther had decided to retire from Starfleet. The apple, as the saying went, did not fall far from the tree in that Dominic was just like his father in his early years. Intelligent and witty like his father, he was also a troublemaker, and he had a mouth that easily got him into trouble.

"Who runs a business selling self-sealing stembolts?" K'rilish growled. He shook his head. "I told Luther he should have stayed in Starfleet."

"His career would never take him past commander despite your help," Tirin said. She walked over to K'rilish and she slid her arms around him. She rested her chin on his chest and she looked up at him with her wide amber eyes.

"I see right through that!" K'rilish said. He tried not to smile. "Don't you do that."

"He just needs to stay a few weeks, and no more than a month. He says that Frankie Abaccio is going to give him a position at the export company that he is forming. He's out in the Frontier on a cargo run and he won't be back until then."

"I can assign Luther quarters at the Hilton in Conestoga," K'rilish said. "I'll even make sure he gets a suite."

"We don't do that to friends," Tirin answered. She raised her hand and she ran the pad of her finger down the bridge of his nose. "And I know you don't mean it. You adore Luther. Besides he can help me while you are away playing with the new _Bonaventure_."

"Like what? Eating my leftover chicken?" K'rilish grumbled. "Are you coming to the launch party?"

"I can't. Seleesa and I are meeting with the instructors at Conestoga University."

University already, K'rilish thought. It seemed like the other day, Saleesa had just learned to walk. He looked down at Tirin.

"She's…uh…not interested in talking to a Starfleet Academy recruiter?"

Tirin laughed and she slid herself away from K'rilish. "Nope. Your little daughter has every intention of becoming a farmer, and you are to blame for that. Taking her camping and hunting made her love the outdoors."

"I _guess_ it's okay," K'rilish sighed.

"She means to study agricultural terraforming so it's a good bet she will be exploring the stars yet. Oh, and I did say that Greerr is also signing up?"

Greerr was the neighbour's son. He was a Caitian male, and on more than one occasional K'rilish had caught him hiding out in the corn fields looking for Saleesa. That she found it amusing, annoyed him even further.

"I don't like him." K'rilish said.

"You don't like everyone," Tirin replied with a smile. "Go and get something to eat and talk to our guest. I have another to call to make and we can enjoy the evening talking about the old times."

"I was going to have chicken now I have to find something else," K'rilish muttered. He turned and started to leave the study.

As was her way, Tirin finally dropped the bomb when K'rilish least expected it.

"Luther is going to ask you for a referral so Dominic can enter Starfleet Academy."

K'rilish stopped and he tenses his muscles. "So, _there_ it is," he said. "The reason for Luther's visit."

"Dominic is a good boy, and he's smart. He at least deserves your consideration," Tirin said. She looked K'rilish and she turned her head to one side. "Just listen to Luther without picking on him. Please?"

There was hardly anything K'rilish could deny his family. Tirin knew this and she had subtly set him up to help Luther. It was cunning and brilliant, and that was why K'rilish married her.

"I'll listen," he said. "As Luther's friend. As an Admiral, I'll have to seriously consider if the boy is worth the time."

Tirin nodded. "I understand, but don't forget. You are also his godfather."

The plate of replicated spaghetti was nowhere close to the leftover fried chicken K'rilish had been looking forward to having for dinner. Seated in his favourite chair on the porch, K'rilish stared at his partially unfinished meal while Luther chattered away about the soccer game on the viewer. In addition to the chicken, he had also helped himself to the last slab of apple pie from the refrigerator. Scooping a forkful of Tirin's homemade pie, he jammed it into his mouth while he talked.

"I can't figure out this coach for the Terran Nova Supernova's," he prattled. "The guy is the worst coach they have had in decades, and he has no concept of defense. Now the Martian Marauders, two-time championship winners. That's a team, Kri!"

K'rilish just nodded. He reached over the side of his chair and he picked up the wooden box Seleesa had made for him (she was a woodworker in addition to a farmer) and he opened it. From within the long box he took the long-stemmed churchwarden pipe and satchel of tobacco. He filled the wooden bowl of the pipe while Luther talked about soccer stats.

It was evening and having changed into his regular clothes, K'rilish stared at the cornfield as the sun began to dip slowly to the horizon. He thought about the preparations for the _Bonaventure-C_ and what could be a tense mission. He struck a match and he began to light the pipe.

"And a defense that is the key to a…." Luther said. He finally looked at K'rilish, and upon seeing him puffing on the pipe, he stopped talking. He looked at K'rilish with bewilderment.

"A pipe?" he said. "Are you serious?"

K'rilish bit down on the stem of the pipe and he flicked an ear. "So, what?"

"I just never saw you with something like that…it's just _odd_ ," Luther said. "Funny how times change, and how people change with them."

"Yes," K'rilish said. He looked at Luther's pie plate. "Was the pie good?"

"It was great!" Luther answered. "Tirin really knows how to cook. Thank you, by the way, for letting me stay a while."

"Hmmmm," K'rilish replied. He took another draw from the pipe. Cherry scented tobacco filled the air over the porch.

Luther fidgeted in his chair. He leaned forward, and he shut the viewer off. "So…there's a new _Bonaventure_ , huh? _Ambassador_ class, I heard."

K'rilish nodded. "The commissioning is tomorrow. Do you want to attend?"

Luther rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I packed light and I didn't bring a suit."

"You can ride with me into the city tomorrow. There's a haberdasher on Fifth and Main in Conestoga called Williamsons. I have an account there for my uniforms."

"I can buy a suit," Luther said firmly. "I'm not broke you know."

"Of course. Get yourself a suit and I will have you shuttled up for the commissioning. It's at thirteen hundred." K'rilish said. He pulled the pipe from his mouth and he blew out smoke. "So, how have _you_ been?"

If Tirin were present she would have been glaring at K'rilish for his behaviour, but he was not as cordial as she was when it came to social niceties among friends. With Luther, it was different. Luther could be easily distracted, and he would keep K'rilish awake well into the late hours of the night talking about nonsense before getting to the point of his visit.

"I guess Tirin told you, huh?" Luther asked.

"She did,' K'rilish answered. "Your business went under, and your son is about to flunk out of college."

"The business wasn't mine. It was Sarah's and she left it to me in the divorce. I should have known something was up when she turned her father's business over to me."

"Self-sealing stembolts," K'rilish said. He let the word hang in the air like the pipe smoke.

Luther fidgeted again. "It's a superior product," he said. "I just didn't know there were a lot of companies making them."

The stem of the pipe clicked on K'rilish's teeth. "So now you're going to work for Frankie Abaccio."

Eager to change the subject, Luther shook his head. He sat at the edge of his chair. "He's bought three ships, Kri, and he wants to expand. He's going to call the company…get this…Far Away Exports, and he wants me to help manage it so he can continue on running the _Andria_."

"Let's hope he never delivers self-sealing stembolts."

The comment made Luther wince. He threw himself back in his chair. "That was a low one there, Kri. Dammit. Are you telling me you're still pissed that I left Starfleet? The last time I was here you brought it up."

"You'd be in a better situation than you are in now," K'rilish said.

"I was stuck at the rank of commander. I was black-balled with no other prospects other than depending on your charity," Luther snapped. "I wanted to go my own way! Besides, I'd have never have met Sarah and had Dominic. I wouldn't change that knowing he would not be part of my life."

"And now your son is about to be kicked out of college," K'rilish added. He tilted his head to one side.

"It wasn't Dominic's fault," Luther began. "A bunch of kids were playing a prank on the university's dean, and Dominic saw them filling his car with canisters of expanding foam. You know the stuff. It's used by the damage suppression teams on starships to fill holes in bulkheads to avoid decompression. The kids set it to expand when the dean opened the car door. Dominic saw the dean approach after the kids set it up, and instead of walking away he watched what happened. The dean was really angry, and he demanded Luther to give him the names of the kids."

"And he didn't," K'rilish said.

"He's not a narc, K'rilish!"

K'rilish took the pipe and he tossed the hot ashes from the pole into a small metal bucket by the chair. "So, Dominic was an innocent bystander the other time when he and some others got into a fight a bar and he broke a kid's nose. Not just a kid…a Federation Councillor's kid."

Luther pointed at K'rilish. "That snot push Dominic and he started it! It's on the police report."

"I know. I read it, and then I called the Councillor and had to tell him that it was all a misunderstanding. That doesn't sound much like you not depending on me for help, Luther."

"He's my son, K'rilish. He's a smart kid, and you've seen that."

Annoyed, K'rilish looked toward the door to see if Tirin was nearby. He pulled his ears back and he glared at Luther. "And now you want me to sponsor him for Starfleet Academy with his lousy grades and performance? What are you thinking?"

"Dominic wants to go," Luther said. He shrugged. "He's been in college a year, and the dean agreed that if he leaves without making a fuss he won't say anything. A sponsor by me won't work, but you…."

"…need my help," K'rilish finished.

"I could go to anyone from the _Bonaventure_. Owen and Renn, I know, have the pull."

"Ah," K'rilish said. "So why not go to them?"

"Because as much as a hardheaded ass that you can be, you won't turn your back on my son. I'm begging you, Kri. Please?"

For a long time, K'rilish was quiet. The sky to the west was turning from gold to pink and the first of two of Terra Nova's moons was beginning to appear. To the east, the swishing sound of one of farms wind turbines created a calming effect over the tense atmosphere on the porch. Again, that feeling that everything around him was transitory came to mind. He pushed it from this thoughts.

"I'll sponsor Dominic."

Luther sagged in his chair and he let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. The boy deserves a chance," K'rilish growled. He stood up and he looked down at Luther. "But I will sponsor him only for the academy at Psi Epsilon III."

"Why there?" Luther asked.

"Commander Shran is an instructor there, and he will see to it that your boy is worth anything." K'rilish said. "If there's anyone who will find out that if Dominic can make the cut, it will be Shran. I advise you to tell Dominic he should not expect any leeway."

Luther shook his head eagerly. He was concerned for his son, and he was eager to comply.

"I'll call him tonight. I'll get a hotel room, so I won't bother you and Tirin anymore."

He started to stand, but K'rilish motioned for him to remain seated. For some reason he could never rid himself of this man.

"No, you'll stay. Besides, if I let you go Tirin will blame me and I will be sleeping in the barn tonight."

A strange smile appeared on Luther's face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," K'rilish said. He then gave a heavy sigh. "Disaster or not, Luther, you are family here."

OFF:


	16. It's 2319, Isn't it? pt 1

This is an active role playing group. If you'd like to join the crew, please contact cpvanhorne

 **"It's 2319, isn't it?" Pt.1**

 **Joint post by Scott VanHorne and Paul B**

 _ **USS Bonaventure**_ **, NCC 1745-C**

 **Deck A, Ready Room – en orbit of Terra Nova mercantile mega-hub**

"Ten crates of fresh Novan lobster, twenty gallons of Denobulan soda pop, four cases of Cristal champagne, one hundred and eight pounds of crushed ice, and…."

Bannerjee stopped and he stared at the word on the 200-year old vintage antique PADD that he was holding. "One thousand umbrellas?"

The male yeoman - wearing the black skant responded with a chuckle. "Those are the little paper ones, Sir. They go with the drinks, possibly? We are serving something called "pina coladas."

"But why one thousand for a guest list of one hundred and twenty?" asked Bannerjee.

"They come in bulk. As do the festive party hats. Of which there are many."

Exasperated, Bannerjee tossed the PADD onto his desk. Seated in the ready room of the _Bonaventure_ with the yeoman he shook his head. "This Pilar wastes no time."

"She is…" The male yeoman exhaled lustfully, "Quite tenacious, sir."

Bannerjee nodded in spite of himself; "You're about that." Then, he coughed, suddenly back to business; "You know, I'm not back from seeing Admiral K'rilish an hour and she already has the caterers on board."

"She is efficient, Sir," the yeoman answered. His smiled faded and he cleared her throat. "There is another item on the PADD you should see, Sir. It is her list of recommendations."

Not sure if he wanted to read that list, Bannerjee picked up the PADD and he scrolled through the list of items for the _Bonaventure's_ commissioning party all the way past the hired singer to the last section. What he found was not so much list of recommendations as it was instructions by Commander Pilar.

Bannerjee threw the PADD back down onto the desk. "That Vulcan is…is…," he began. Upon looking at his yeoman, he let out an aggravated sigh. "I will speak with Pilar regarding her so-called list, Yeoman."

The page to ready room sounded. Seeing it as an appropriate time as any to end the meeting, Bannerjee dismissed the yeoman. "Try to avoid Pilar if you can in the meantime. I mean it, Randall."

The yeoman smirked and he stood up and she headed for the door. The doors parted and Commander Vril was standing outside. He nodded at the Yeoman Randall and he entered the ready room.

"You wanted to speak with me, Sir?" he asked. Vril's physical presence was imposing. Bannerjee was no physical slouch; indeed he was a Parisi Squares champion in the local brackets. But Vril….corded, bulging muscle. And pheromones to boot. The man left a testosterone footprint everywhere he—

"Yes, Commander" Bannerjee said. He motioned at the chair that had been vacated by the Yeoman. "Please have a seat. How goes the preparations for the _Bonaventure?_ "

Commander Vril took a long and intense inhale through angular, dark green nostrils that were the base of what humans would refer to as a "Roman nose". After a brief pause, the Orion began counting on his fingers; "Propulsion systems are untested and uncalibrated. That goes for everything from station keeping thrusters on up to our new Ion drive sub-light Impulse system that refuses to work properly—right up to the warp coil giving inconsistent readings to our team—despite it having been fixed four times. The shield generators won't modulate, railgun assembly parts have yet to be installed and tested, we have no tractor beam to speak of without my parts requisition being fulfilled. Half the synthesizers that have been installed will not work, 2 Workbees exploded on the platform after some knucklehead contractor inverted their polarities, and….." His yellow eyes looked to the ceiling, "….the new LCARS touchscreens that tie to the computer core are blinking on and off, and we had to break out a duotronic unit just to get the turbolifts to resume operation. This is after the news crew was trapped in one of them after yesterday morning's gravitational field mishap, which you already know about." He paused, then added, "Sir."

"We'll just have to bare and grin it to the use old axiom," Bannerjee answered. He pointed at the PADD. "It doesn't help that we have Admiral K'rilish's adjutant in charge of planning the commissioning ceremony. She has taken liberty at recommending that I delegate more personnel to assist in what she calls social-necessities."

Vril cracked his knuckles, "She could begin by not opening up our damn service corridors to these …unusually dressed cadets…they're wearing blue vests and walking around with PADDs pointing at—"

"Tour guides!" Bannerjee said. "As if we don't have enough on our plates Pilar wants to ensure the guests who will come aboard for the commissioning will be given a proper and fully instructional tour during the ceremonial cruise."

"Why don't we have them give a tour of the aft lavatories while we're at it? Those are in a good bit of disarray. Maybe the cargo transporter deck that's still littered with pieces of the replicator that exploded when it was improperly put together? This is…." Vril threw his hands up, "the PRIME time to show the UFP at large how disorganized we all are! Maybe my dirty underpants drawer can be an evening focal point!" He composed himself again, folded his hands, smiled, then added another, "Sir."

Bannerjee leaned back in his chair and he looked at Vril. His record was exemplary and filled with glowing recommendations by all his former commanding offices. Like Lieutenant Commander Itanya Romanov, his service history was linked to the name _Bonaventure_. Upon seeing his name in the long list of officers who had submitted for the position as executive officer, Bannerjee knew that there was no else to consider.

Having known Vril a month, he was relaxed, and he could crack a good joke to the lighten the mood. His performance was as his record had stated in that it was nothing short of perfection. The crew liked him, and he knew the borders between friendship and command. Yet, there was a reserved nature to him at times that Bannerjee noticed. He would see Vril staring off into nothing as if lost in thought.

"You've spoken a lot about Admiral VanHorne and some of the other officers you served with, Commander," Bannerjee began. He chose his words carefully. "I was wondering what insight you could give me about Admiral K'rilish. To be honest, and it may be none of my business, but you've never mentioned him."

"The Admiral and I have…." Vril's words tapered off, and the Orion began to gesticulate aimlessly, moving his hands as his words were beginning to fail him, "It's been…." He added, "It's been a bit of an up and down over the years. I guess I would characterize it as…"

"Commander Itanya has spoken about him in glowing words, and his record only goes so far," Bannerjee answered. He leaned forward and the threaded his fingers together and he rested his hands on his desk. "So, tell me, Commander. What am I to expect from this admiral?"

At once Vril dropped his sense of levity, and was deadly serious. Even solemn. He looked around him to make sure there were no prying ears, then leaned in to the edge of his seat; "The man …." Vril faltered, then looked at Bannerjee earnestly. He liked the new Captain. Decent guy, self-deprecating sense of humour. Strength mixed with gentleness. Vril sensed a kinship with him, then—

"You know that new holo-tech they just installed on Deck H, Captain?" Bannerjee nodded.

Vril rose; "Perhaps before our ship gets overrun by the Paparazzi, you and I could take a brief stroll down memory lane. And by memory lane, I mean one particularly fateful day about 20 or so years ago in the Bonnie A's engine room. I think that can probably illustrate my views about _Admiral_ K'rilish better than poor recollections I can spit out."

With that, the Commander rose and extended a welcoming hand….

(JP with Paul and Scott)


	17. It's 2319, Isn't It? pt 2

This is an active role playing group. If you would like to join, please contact cpvanhorne

 **"It's 2319, isn't it?" Pt. 2**

 **Joint post with Scott VanHorne and Paul B**

 _USS Bonaventure_ , NCC 1745-C

Deck H, Holodeck 1 (Recreation of Bonnie-A Engineering deck, AD 2301)

What Bannerjee saw made him sick.

Stabbing without weapons in hand. Blood forming on Admiral VanHorne's maroon jacket. The man's face twisted in agony from shock and unrelenting pain. The attackers, fellow officers, turned against him. They reminded Bannerjee of marionettes by the manner of their motions. Despite how quickly they attacked, there was something to the movement that did not seem natural. It did not lessen, however, the brutality of their actions.

Watching over it all, safe from the mezzanine around the _Bonaventure-A_ 's warp core was the Romulan female. D'Deridex was dangerously beautiful and her sadistic smile only sent a shiver of revulsion down Bannerjee's spine.

He had seen enough.

"Computer, pause simulation!"

The image of VanHorne's death stopped. If watching his death in motion had been gruesome, seeing the frozen look on his face was even worse. Bannerjee reached for the handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his trousers and he pressed it the sweat that had formed on his brow.

"Computer," he said again. "Remove these individuals!"

The holographic images of VanHorne, K'rilish, Captain Savion and the others vanished. Only the simulated engineering room of the _Bonaventure-A_ remained. Limited only to the view taken from the security feeds of the _Bonaventure_ , the simulacrum of the engineering appeared as if it were a set. Only the warp core chamber and the surrounding area had been recreated. The technology still was not perfect. There were artifacts in the image and most of the finer details at the work stations were blurred, but it was getting better. Bannerjee found himself thankful that he had not witnessed VanHorne's death in any greater clarity.

"See what I mean?" Vril said simply, his arms folded.

"It was awful, yes," Bannerjee said. He looked at the Orion who had stood on the far side the holosimulator during the entire playback. "I've heard about this incident, but I have never wanted to see it. I now know why."

"It was supposedly all a result of mind control." The Orion Commander said, the "quotes" symbol at his fingertips.

Bannerjee sighed and he stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. "What I saw, Captain, were people being manipulated, coerced by that thing posing as a Romulan," he said. "I don't think that they had any desire to kill the Admiral."

Vril laughed out loud; "That's the official line from the Nechayev report. That's what everyone believes." Vril walked over to the extended archway and typed in a set of commands.

[SPECIFY PROGRAM PARAMETERS] The computer voice said.

" _USS Bonaventure_ , NCC 1745-A—Deck A, Bridge, 28 minutes before the previously viewed surveillance log. Play tape."

After a few seconds, the engineering deck disappeared, to be replaced by the black and stainless steel bridge of two decades previous. The polished surfaces had a different layout than the _Bonnie-C_ ; much more militarized with harder surfaces; hard coded buttons in lieu of the multi-function arrangement they now enjoyed. Yet….the leather surfaces of the chairs looked remarkably higher quality. Once the bridge materialized into view; personnel filled the seats and walkways. Amongst those….Admiral Jas VanHorne, a man in his late middle age. His worry lines and creased on his face making him appear ancient in contrast to yesterday's holo vid where he was a swaggering Captain….

"ADMIRAL!" Captain K'rilish said loudly, and in an accosting manner. He approached the older Admiral suddenly, and even Bannerjee looked worried, as if the Caitian was ready to pounce.

"Mr. K'rilish…." VanHorne said almost lethargically.

"There is….an anomaly." K'rilish reported. VanHorne slowly rose from his chair, somewhat unsteadily. VanHorne then walked silently over to the tactical station, and paused, before K'rilish continued to lead the way toward the aft portion of the deck, and engineering station. K'rilish logged in and called up several different diagnostic read-outs, until tracing a claw along the LCARS lay-out and pointed to a spiked energy reading;

"I just discovered a significant power fluctuation several minutes ago when I sent a standard request for phaser bank power allocation to the aft batteries. A follow-up to engineering went unheeded. I thought you should know…"

VanHorne and the Caitian continued their conversation, and Vril took the opportunity to point to the two of them, while nodding at Bannerjee;

"This is where it breaks down for me. This is where I stop believing that the Romulans were entirely complicity in whatever supposed "mind control" is to blame…" Vril said. Bannerjee was about to offer his opinion, when Vril excitedly pointed to K'rilish, and said; "Just watch!"

"Go investigate." The Admiral said.

"Right away, sir." The Caitian replied, and immediately walked over to the tactical station, to prepare for his replacement while he summoned a team from Deck G.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize you, Helm Officer." VanHorne said to the young person sitting at the station in front of, and left of the Captain's chair. The moppish headed youthful man with a slight Jupiterian accent responded, "Ensign Timothy Reed, sir."

Bannerjee poked to Vril; "You weren't the alpha shift helmsman at this time? Who's this fellow?"

Vril shook his head; "Ensign Reed. Green as hell. I was re-assigned during this time."

VanHorne re-approached the Captain's chair, then with surprising authority, said; "Excellent. Maintain three quarter impulse speed on constant bearing, decreasing range to the M-Class planet on your navigational read-out. Stagger the approach vector according to the flight plan I just sent you. We have a hostile ship shadowing us. Go to evasive posture should anything change on your combat sensor board."

"Aye, Admiral." Reed responded.

"Miss Metcalfe-?" VanHorne said to the young lady who was busying herself at the communications station. Vril marvelled at the young woman in her smart uniform. Bannerjee noticed this; "I take it you know her?"

Vril nodded; "Aye…."

"It's Mister Metcalfe, Admiral." She said to Admiral VanHorne, which appeared to displease the older man.

"MISTER Metcalfe," VanHorne said to the young lady, "Take over the ops station for Lieutenant Renn."

VanHorne pointed to a young crewman just behind where Vril and Bannerjee were standing, and surprisingly walked through them, just a hologram, as he continued to give orders;

"Take tactical until Kri and get back here. Maintain a tachyon scan, and passive sensor sweeps until we approach Felicity orbit. Keep the sensor board tight, and have an expectation of a ship uncloaking at any moment. Watch for plasma torpedo leakage, and you should know that one of the hostile's has an alternating singularity drive that won't show up on a standard scan." VanHorne then sidled up alongside K'rilish;

"Who do you have with you? Anita? Stahl?"

The Caitian marched toward the turbo-lift with the Admiral on his heels. Without waiting response, VanHorne shot an order at Metcalfe; "Mister Metcalfe, you have the bridge!" VanHorne called out just before the doors slid closed.

"Computer, freeze simulation." Vril said, and at once the hive of activity known as the _Bonnie-A_ 's bridge suddenly ceased. Vril held the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and in a measured tone, said; "Captain….can you explain to me please why someone in such a capacity as K'rilish would have needed to lure an old man down to the engineering room? To investigate? Why possibly would he need a flag officer with him? Especially one in such obviously shaky condition? Why?!"

Bannerjee could hear the anger in Vril's voice. He knew that Jas VanHorne had been his mentor and a surrogate father, and that the man's death would undoubtedly have a greater impact on him than most people. Understandably, he would feel the same.

"Your anger seems more directed at Admiral K'rilish," Bannerjee said. He motioned at the simulated engineering deck. "I do understand your feelings, Captain. Admiral VanHorne suffered a terrible death, but I want to know how this plays into my question regarding Admiral K'rilish. He will aboard this ship in under thirty six hours and I want to know about what kind of person he is."

"He's a cold, emotionless, mentally unsteady shell of a man with the potential for thoughtless lethal force. Who's been given the keys to Starfleet Intelligence. THAT'S who he is." Vril paused, aware that he had gone quite far; "Sir."

Bannerjee was quiet for a moment as he considered what Vril had said. He had read the history of the _Bonaventure-A_ and its crew upon becoming the captain of its new namesake, and the stories behind each person had been like a novel. They had been a family, most starship crews formed such bonds being so far among the stars and having to work together, but the _Bonaventure-A_ crew were unique. They had been part of historical events that had helped either save The United Federation of Planets, it's timeline, or had averted catastrophic war altogether. Yet, for some strange reason, their exploits had not taken the attention of the history books like that of James Tiberius Kirk and his starship the _USS Enterprise_.

The _Bonaventure-A_ crew was a close family, Bannerjee thought, which also meant there existed the pettiness, jealousies, and anger that also came with being part of one.

He looked to Vril. "I cannot rule out the tense relationship between K'rilish and VanHorne. What you've said, I've also noticed. VanHorne's logs about K'rilish mention this, and the Caitian's own material is rife with accusations especially in the months after his time travel incident. I happen to know it was the subject of psychological evaluations as part of his re-training at the time."

Vril crossed his arms; "Temporal sickness. The loss of a ship. The loss of a wife. A family. A whole culture. The man had PTSD and it showed in every single thing that came out of his mouth, culminating in his …. Psychotic breakdown in engineering."

Bannerjee raised his hand quickly to forestall the Orion. "But," he stressed. "I must also look at the entire record, as you should. Up until VanHorne's death the two officers had what was described as a working relationship. I must admit that what I felt had formed between was a begrudging respect, and that is not a cause for murder. I didn't see hate on the Caitian's face during that awful simulation."

Vril guffawed, "Maybe you're not looking hard enough."

"Personally, I don't like him," Bannerjee admitted. "He's rude and he's arrogant. He's the type that lays out an agenda without little regard to the input of others including subordinates. I'm quite surprised that he has been given the leeway as an admiral that most others do not possess. He's carved himself out a little empire here on Terra Nova, and he rules it as such. I do not look forward to him being aboard our ship."

Vril made a fist; "Then imagine, sir, how I feel. Not just me but quite a few officers who aren't clear what we should do when this…. Man comes in to start barking orders again."

"We'll do our duty, Commander," Bannerjee said. "We'll prepare this ship for a grand tour and hope that the diplomats succeed with the Cardassians. At the very least, and with food fortune, we'll put up with the Admiral and the guests for a few days, and then we can get on with being explorers. I have to ask, will this be a problem?"

Vril paused for a moment. Then, with a stern jaw;"Negative, Captain. I'll give you my best work while he is here."

That was enough to satisfy Bannerjee. There was resentment in Vril, and Bannerjee understood it even. If it went any deeper, he was not going to find out. Vril's record was exemplary, his psyche evaluations on point, and that was good enough for him. Prying too far into the thoughts and lives of a crewman was something a Starfleet captain had to be conscious about. If Vril chose to keep a respectable distance from K'rilish during the commissioning and the tour, Bannerjee was not going to stand in his way.

"We have thirty six hours," Bannerjee continued. He tried to summon as much enthusiasm as he could. "Our fine lady may be getting rushed out the door for her first night out, but we are going to make it a memorable one."

Vril allowed himself a small smile; "That, I think we can do."

Excusing himself, Bannerjee left the holosimulator. As he passed through the double doors into the corridor, he thought about VanHorne's gruesome death. No man, no being, deserved to that way aboard their own ship. It was awful.

What if Vril had said was right? What if what drove K'rilish to the act of murder had to do with a subconscious desire to get even? Could Bannerjee rule it out? As a Starfleet officer, he was trained to look at all sides to an argument. This also included, K'rilish's record. His actions during the Tomed Incident had rightfully secured his place in the admiralty, and that Starfleet Command had chosen him to take over the _Bonaventure_ launch in lieu of negotiating the return of Federation citizens clearly chose their support for him.

Only a fool would go head to head with an admiral with a war record. It was a fast track to a career to nowhere.

As he had found himself upon first seeing K'rilish and hearing the bad news, Bannerjee had only one course to follow. It would be the same tactic he and most other Starfleet officers applied over their careers when dealing with a commanding officer that they did not like. He would follow orders, do his job, and with luck see them move on with a simple farewell.

As for K'rilish, if Bannerjee never saw him again it would be for the better.

(JP with Paul and Scott)


	18. I've Got A Golden Ticket

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 **"I've Got a Golden Ticket!"**

 **by Paul B**

 **2319 Throughout the Federation**

 _ON:_

 _I never thought my life could be anything but catastrophe  
But suddenly I begin to see a bit of good luck for me  
Cause I've got a golden ticket…_

"Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory"

One hundred and fifty invitations went out. The timing, coordinated by Pilar, was a testament to her skill as both an adjutant and a Vulcan. Because the invitations were on paper, it became necessary to find printers across The United Federation of Planets that still offered the old fashion service of printing invitations with ink. Once enough printers were found, a thorough process of weeding out those of low-quality begun. As with anything done by a Vulcan, the standards were high and with no exceptions. Some printers gave up, citing that the requirements made were either no longer employed, or way too exacting. Others eagerly met the challenge.

In the end, the invitation cards were printed on one hundred percent cotton stock for both its weight and its ability to hold printed ink. Ever prescient of most humanoids affinity for quality, Pilar had ensured that the paper was cleaved so they could see the microfiber edges. To avoid any ink smudging, vellum inserts in Federation Blue were also added to the four by six-inch cards. Each piece of vellum, if inspected carefully by the recipient, revealed the watermark of the Starfleet delta.

The style of print was engraving; the font and theme Art Deco. After several long hours of deliberation, Pilar had chosen the _Metropolis_ font pattern for its clean lines. At the last minute, just prior to approving the final form of the invitation, she selected _Bellerose Pro Light_ in a slighter larger size for the date, time, and name of the _USS Bonaventure-C._ Geometric lines paired in three bordered the invitation card culminating in a geometric light burst pattern at the center top of the card. It was the most logical selection, not overly ornate, and appropriately functional by visual standards.

Once the arduous process of selecting and finalizing the invitations was complete, came the next important function: Delivery. Once the printers had all confirmed that the invitations were ready (all within twenty-four standard hours upon receipt of their instructions), Starfleet personnel arrived to pick them up. Junior officers from Starfleet installations and Starbases, by request of The Office of The Admiral in charge of Starfleet Tactical, delivered the invitations to their respectful recipients. The entire process took less than twelve hours, and it had taken into account of those worlds where night had fallen, and where those who required sleep would not be bothered at the wrong hour. The last three recipients received their invitations by the twelfth hour. There was only one refusal due to a health issue.

It was not long before word began to spread. The media organizations assisted in this effort; their managers having received invitations requesting that they send their best field personnel to attend. Upon seeing the quality of the invitations and the name of the starship upon it, they knew that this was an affair not to be missed. It also helped that the latest news cycle was in a downturn. The only big event was a forest fire on Archer's Planet and the arrival of a diplomatic envoy from the Taurus Expanse. Those events were relegated to secondary status as the _Bonaventure_ launch took the Federation by storm. On the Solar News Network, the banner at the bottom of viewer screens and personal data pads summed up the event in bold font _: Starfleet's Back! CinC stuns Federation with surprise launch of new Ambassador Class starship….and it's big!_

Anyone who thought of themselves as someone important wanted to attend. As pictures of the invitations surfaced throughout the media feeds, the calls went out. Agents were contacted and demands made, old friends were reminded of old favours, and those who thought that they had contacts in the Federation government and Starfleet reached out to them; all in hopes of getting a place at the biggest event in the galaxy.

The result, for all of them, was the same. Their calls were directed to Admiral K'rilish's office; and it was there that they ran smack-face into an immovable wall: Commander Pilar. The appeals and browbeating did not assuage the studious Vulcan. Regardless of name, title, or accolades, each conversation was limited to ten seconds. If you were not on the list, you were not going.

Outrage and jealously spread as quickly as the news. When the list of guests was finally divulged, the anger exploded in a series of op-eds and opinion pieces on the news feeds. There were no celebrities or famous athletes, no who's-who of society, or anyone self-important to think that their presence mattered at the event. Starfleet brass filled most of the list as well as former Federation diplomats who, as accordingly to Pilar's press release, "had worked to enforce the ideals of the Federation". Among them was former President Ra'ghoratreii who was to give a small speech before the official commissioning. The mother of fallen officer Anita Fernandez of the _Bonaventure-A_ was to throw a bottle of Chateau Picard 2301 to christen the _Bonaventure_ into service. The op-eds and opinion pieces wisely avoided criticizing that part.

Most notably, to those who scrutinized the names, they would have found a connection to the _USS Bonaventure_ legacy. For all the personal who had served on a starship bearing the name _Bonaventure_ , they received that most coveted of invitations: VIP status. These invitations were engraved in gold leaf and each was accompanied by a VIP security card granting access to the commissioning event on the space-frame observation deck and complete access to the _USS Bonaventure-C_ itself (secured areas notwithstanding, of course).

"Who is this Governor Savion of Felicity?" came the comments.

"Never heard of this Cross fellow? What did he do that was so important?"

If jealousy over the names drove some to the edge of frustration, it was the event itself that drove some of them over the edge. The commissioning was set on the observation deck of the _Bonaventure's_ space frame. A stage with a band was set up with the glistening new ship as the backdrop. To show the advances in Starfleet's technology, guests were to be treated to a holographic simulacrum of Frank Sinatra. While Ol' Blue Eyes crooned away to such classic hits as "Fly Me to The Moon", the mingling crowd would be treated to Cristal champagne and Denobulan soda pop.

The final dagger to the envious heart was the tour. It was the first ever for a Federation starship. After the commissioning was completed, guests would board the _Bonaventure_ and be shown to their quarters as if they were boarding a cruise ship. A formal dinner was planned on the _Bonaventure's_ observation deck where such fine food as Novan lobster and Deltan sea scallops were on the menu. Following that, the ship would be open to tours. Junior officers and specialists bedecked in special uniforms were to take groups throughout the ship. Coached on every aspect about the _Ambassador Class_ starship the guides were prepared to "exhaust" their guests with "wonder". The final leg of the tour was at the holosimulators. The final "wow" piece would leave them overwhelmed with a visual history of the _USS Bonaventure_ legacy in which they could partake.

And then it was on to _Starbase 621_. The guests would stay the night aboard the new ship. They would enjoy the new accommodations and luxuries not seen in any other starship. Guest rooms with separate sleeping areas, sonic showers, and food replicators would be at their disposal. For the VIP's, they would find guest quarters rivalling those of the best Federation passenger liners. No luxury would be denied, or request turned down.

It was going to be a grand event. For many onlookers caught up in the sudden frenzy, it added to the new and positive mood that was spreading across The United Federation of Planets. The dark and gloomy years of the previous decade, and the fear of war from The Tomed Incident were gone. The attempts by those to downplay the launch found themselves drowned out by the fervour of support for the event. Was it a bit too flashy? Perhaps, but Starfleet never really showed itself off too much. This time, they deserved it.

And that was the point of the whole spectacle. The greatest event in the galaxy was designed to send a message; it's details purposely leaked out in a controlled fashion.

The people of The United Federation of Planets would never know that the message was never intended for them.

 **(Current)**

Seated in the study of his home, K'rilish sipped his coffee. Daybreak was beginning in the form of a faint band of blue from the cornfields through the nearby window. On the desk viewer in front of him, was Pilar. The Vulcan had not slept, but she showed no signs of fatigue.

"Excellent job, Commander," K'rilish said. "What is the media saturation rate?"

"All the main news feeds are carrying the commissioning event for their lead morning broadcasts and data dumps," Pilar answered. "I estimate the saturation rate to be approximately eighty percent."

K'rilish raised his ears at the news. "That is good. Have you sent the coded orders to the relays along the Romulan, Klingon and Cardassian borders?"

Pilar bowed her head. "Yes, Admiral. The transmissions will be boosted by eight percent. As we are aware that Federation communications are monitored, the slight increase in amplification will ensure a higher data transmission rate without risk of detection."

"The Cardassians need to know what is happening," K'rilish stressed. "The latest report I received this morning informs me that the negotiations are not going well."

"I highly doubt they will avoid the news of the _Bonaventure_ , Sir."

Reassurance by Pilar was something K'rilish never dismissed. He took another sip of his coffee. "The VIP invitations. Did everyone from the _Bonaventure_ get theirs?"

Pilar knew that when K'rilish spoke about the _Bonaventure_ in such a manner he was referring to those that he had served with.

"Yes, Admiral."

"Good. Have you set me up a temporary office on the space-frame? I will need to monitor reports from the CinC during the ceremonies, and I will need to do that away from prying eyes."

"They are ready, Sir," Pilar said.

Having had Pilar under his command for nearly ten years, K'rilish saw that the lines on her face deepen. She was thinking of something and it was a concern.

"What is it, Commander?"

"It is regarding the Federation News Network, Admiral. They are requesting quarters on the _Bonaventure_ for the tour."

"The media assignments were already selected," K'rilish said. "That is my prerogative."

"Yes," Pilar said. "However, FNN management is stating that you do not wish their journalists aboard because of the _Bonaventure's_ unfortunate history with their organization."

K'rilish squinted at the monitor. He felt the fur rise along his neck and back. "They sent a news crew to cover the breaking up of the _Bonaventure-A_! Did they think I wouldn't forget? You tell them, Pilar, that they should be grateful that they are allowed at the commissioning and the dinner. I could care less if their news organization has changed."

Pilar knew when to push K'rilish and not to. This was one of those moments not to.

"I will remind FNN that the media selection was fair, and we are not changing our position."

The memory of Gedeon Wolfe, muckraker that he was, smoking those ill smelling cigars came to K'rilish. His horrible death on the Klingon colony of Melas had evoked no sympathy from him. As far as K'rilish was concerned, the man was partly responsible for the madness of the previous decade.

Some things even time could not change.

"I will be spaceside in six hours," K'rilish said. He leaned in close to the viewer. "Despite the meaning behind this launch, Pilar, it needs to be a success. The starship isn't as much as what the name represents."

That made Pilar's right eyebrow rise. "I will await your arrival, Sir."

K'rilish switched off the viewer. He knew his comment about the _Bonaventure_ had confused Pilar and that she possessed no emotional connection to both a starship and its name. He said it because he needed to hear himself say it, that he really wanted this to be a night for those people whom he had served alongside with, and bled with.

He looked at the intel report he had received an hour earlier from Starfleet Command. The PADD was marked classified on the screen and it contained the latest involvements of the negotiations with the Cardassians. Complicating the matter were the Cardassians who had started to arrest Bajoran citizens. Rumours of work camps and executions were beginning to circulate, and when pressed by the matter by the Federation dignitaries, they had been rebuffed by the Cardassians. They were taunting the Federation now and they were trying to assert themselves as the new power in the Alpha Quadrant.

K'rilish switched the viewer back on and he inserted a coded password that allowed him to access Starfleet's subspace communications network. A few seconds later the face of a Tellarite appeared on the screen. Captain Traggm of the _USS Valley Forge_ nodded in greeting.

"Good morning, Admiral. Getting ready for the big day?"

"Yes," K'rilish said. "How are things on your end, Captain?"

"All personnel have returned to the ship and the _Forge_ is standing ready, Sir."

"And what of the additional personnel I requested from Colonel Townsend?"

The Tellarite wrinkled his nose and he let out an annoyed sigh. "You mean the marines, Sir? Yes, they're aboard."

K'rilish could understand Traggm's annoyance. Starfleet security personnel were trained in every manner possible to defend and protect lives, and having personnel outside of his normal area of responsibility would be viewed as a hindrance. However, he did not have the pressure of looking at a situation on the galactic level as K'rilish did.

"The marines are there as a means to an end that I hope we never reach," K'rilish told Traggm. He started punching commands onto his terminal. "Your orders are coming through now. You are to proceed to the asteroid fields in the Koralis System for weapons testing. The _USS Winterland_ will be arriving enroute to transfer ordinance from the Terra Nova. The manifest will be sent along shortly."

Traggm looked away from the screen for a moment as he checked his orders. "Koralis is close to the Bajoran Sector and Cardassian space."

"Exactly."

"I see," Traggm said. He then paused. "You don't trust that new ship. Do you, Sir?"

"Just concentrate on your task, Captain." K'rilish ordered. He hit the contact on the terminal that cut the transmission. Traggm was a good officer, but he could be nosey at times.

It was done. The preparations were complete, and if there was anything K'rilish had overlooked he would have to deal with it when the situation arose.

He closed his eyes and he sighed. He thought about going back to bed and sleep for another hour, but he knew he would just toss and turn and make Tirin concerned. No, he just needed to think for a while.

"Lights," he ordered.

The computer complied and the lamp on the desk light slowly dimmed until the morning light Terra Nova shown through the window.

The day, for better or worse, had begun.

 _OFF:_


	19. The High Cost of Pain pt 1

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 **"The High Cost Of Pain" Pt. 1**

 **by Scott VanHorne**

160 YEARS AGO

 _SS Athabasca Outrider_ crash site, Planet Felicity

Felicity Savion stood on the outcropping overlooking the valley. The planet's desolate stretches were beautiful, and wind swirls crept out amongst the rocks and glaciers in all directions. The logistics of the matter were not in their favour, however. If this colony was to survive, it would require intense sacrifice on her part… "Are you ready, Miss?" Her ombudsman said to her plainly from beyond the airlock.

The temperature was dropping below what she could readily ignore. She wanted to taste one last gasp of free air before the struggle began again. This alien world would be dangerous, but it would be home. No longer would the stain of oppression land on them….not as long as she drew breath. With a tearful gasp, she looked away and steeled herself against the many long winters to come . . .

19 YEARS AGO

Shuttlecraft " _San Quentin_ ", En Route to Starfleet Detention Block Gamma

San Francisco, CA

The ride in the rear of the shuttlecraft was scary. The seats were hard plastic, Azette could barely breathe from the stuffy lack of air circulation in the cabin, and her tiny little wrists were held together by ties that the meanest of the brim-hatted Starfleet security men had fitted her with. Had a reddish beard, blue eyes, and a face that lit up when he had hurt her.

Ensign Baconivich rode up front, and as the Mark V shuttle banked sharply over the Golden Gate bridge, the Tellarite Ensign who had spent 2 weeks assigned to the Earth security detail, wrote on his PADD as objectively as he could muster. There had been a scheduled attempt to take an illegal alien into custody. The guardian refused to comply. There was a resulting accident when the subjects fled the scene. The resultant fatality was one Lieutenant Rachel Osgoode; a career operations support specialist most recently assigned to the _USS Bonaventure_. She had been on extended leave since the previous summer owing to an off-the-record request by Admiral Jas VanHorne (deceased); and had been the sole guardian of the minor, a Klingon whose citizenship request had been recently revoked.

He sighed.

They were carrying out their orders. The death of the Starfleet officer had been regrettable, but they were not at fault. Had she simply complied…

He felt a thumping at the back of his seat. As he turned around, he saw the tiny, wiry Klingon through the electronic force field, her manacles far larger than her wrists. She had again tried throwing herself against the barrier, and it had forcefully repelled her back into the cabin. The securityman with the red hair and the severe expression immediately put his hand on his truncheon, and started up to go discipline her. Again.

The pilot stared straight ahead, but this time the Tellarite Ensign found the courage to speak up;

"Mark….Petty Officer….please. She….she's had enough." Ensign Baconivich pleaded. CPO Mark only shook his head, with a wide grin.

"She's an illegal." He said firmly, "She's got no rights."

Azette saw him move and she growled. The child who had grown up with no hate in her heart now firmly had the seeds for it planted within her. The people tasked with her care too had no idea what they were creating, or the reckoning that awaited…

TODAY; 2319 A.D.

 _Galor_ Class ship " _Mathra_ ", in orbit of Bajor

Bridge

Gul Baan was getting old. His penchant for flying out into space, far away from his bunker on Cardassia Prime had diminished over the years. He felt that space conquest was a game for the much younger, and despite having a crack team of younger Cardassians than he to boss around, the posturing being done down below was beyond his patience level.

"What is the status of the merchant contingent?" He asked in his effeminate lisp. The reptilian administrator with the tall leather colour and the sunken black eyes and swept back black hair with pronounced widow's peak had a voice that starkly mismatched his serpentine appearance.

The female operations officer shivered slightly as she approached Gul Baan, who characteristically smelled like rotting fish crossed with perfume…

"They are approaching Janitza spaceport. The local authorities suspect that they may be overrun again by locals who are upset about the lack of food and medicine. Possible insurgency this time. They are requesting orders."

Gul Baan plucked a putrid olive from a silver canister and slurped it into his mouth, before gaily tossing a wrist into the air,

"Allow them to land. If there is the slightest act of local dischord….inflict pain. Much of it." The female officer with the green lips whispered her compliance. Gul Baan seemed to brighten;

"The new, beautiful, insectile ship is untested. How else can we gauge its effectiveness in orbital bombardment without a proper, inhabited world with which to unleash our destructive abilities?"

This seemed to please her, and she began the preparations for her vessel's spiral wave disruptors. She did this in deep, pleasure-filled anticipation bordering on the malicious. All that would be required would be an excuse from the Bajoran locals, and all on the bridge desperately hoped it would be given….


	20. The High Cost of Pain pt 2

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 **"The High Cost Of Pain" Pt. 2**

 **by Scott VanHorne**

160 YEARS AGO

 _SS Athabasca Outrider_ crash site, Planet Felicity

Galley

The creaky galley was made or red cedar. Despite the duranium hull, Felicity insisted that her ship feel something close to home if they were going to be out on such a lengthy mission. Her tin coffee cup was in the middle of the table, and the red plaid shirted men surrounded her each took turns giving the boat mistress the report…

"I don't understand. You just explained to me that our communications arrays are in working condition." Felicity was a stout woman. Not unattractive. She'd been told she looked like Eleanor Roosevelt on more than one occasion by her historian daughters. Her silver hair was tied back and away from her angular face, and her own flannel shirt was pushed back from the sleeves, and she rested her elbows on the knotted pine table. She had been far more elegant at the launching ceremony…had even worn a dress. But today, she was opting for utility only:

"Yes, Ma. That's not the problem. The problem is we'll have to go through at least a dozen hibernation cycles if we're still planet-bound." This came from Gunnar Dumont, her chief of boat. A bearded man with a sock cap, he had never lead her astray, though what he was saying now was…. Not computing.

She countered: "And our sub-space beacons and other devices are functioning perfectly, despite the crash."

Herbie Renault took over. The skinny, black headed, fair skinned lad with the glasses was the best with computers, and she considered his words gospel; "Aye, Ma. They're working just fine. The bigger problem is those of us who don't have the blood type necessary to survive the plasma re-injections necessary. We'll have to make—"

Felicity waved her hands in front of her, halting the young man; "So, how is it that you're telling me that help is not likely to be coming."

Bill Simon; the contracting manager and most senior captain spoke up; "Ma….it's not that help isn't _likely_ to be coming. It's that it isn't coming. Ever."

Felicity stood abruptly, and placed her palms on the table; "I don't understand your logic, sir. We have too many mouths to feed, and too many resources at our disposal to assume we'll be stuck here until someone builds a warp coil from spare parts."

Herbie lifted a finger; "That is….the most likely scenario, yes."

She lashed out at him, just as the old fashioned coo coo did an unwelcome announcement of the late hour. Outside, 30 feet high, they saw the alien trees shake in the violent, oncoming wind. The weather was getting worse, and the purple sky was beginning to spider-web with lightning; "I refuse to…speak to you, you're not talking sense, you're not—"

Gunnar walked over to her, and pointed at the ancient brass telescope that was usually decoration, but which lately had come into high use… he made an adjustment to the dial, then swung the old contraption's business end toward the ship's owner;

"Ma…come take a look at the telescope. The star Agamemnon…"

Felicity put her hands on her hips; "….is a dissipated collection of noble gases, seeping out into the Universe. Yes, we all know, Howard, what is your p—"

He jammed a chubby digit at the viewing lens, and she reluctantly leaned in close for a look. After a moment, Felicity could make out the image of an enormous, bright, shining orb. At 15 AU's distance, it was bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. The exploded star. The celestial phenomenon that had imploded and nearly taken them with it. The heavenly body that they had all assumed was a disparate collection of non-uniform gas tendrils cast out for light years in every direction. And yet, she looked at it in its wholeness….. it was as spherical and perfect as in the history books. Her boatmate's voice was clear in her ear, even if her own brain couldn't quite process what she was seeing.

"THAT'S AGAMEMNON"

"You're looking at it, Ma." Said Herbie.

There was silence in the room, and Felicity kept her eye on the eyepiece for a long while, before stepping back, her eyes vacant. The implications of the find had permeated through the ship all morning, and she had ignored each and every single one of them. She wanted rescue. She wanted off of this planet.

If she had to wait for months, or even a year or more, she could hunker down and do it. She was an Edmonton gal, after all. Inconvenience was nothing to her. She had shouldered more difficulty than anyone onboard could ever have imagined, and yet the existence of this star signified something more terrible and unknown and frightening than anything she could possibly imagine in her most unfettered imagination;

Outside the tight confines of her little ship…no one else she had ever known.. existed yet.


	21. Phantoms

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 **Phantoms**

 **by Lowell B**

OOC: Special thanks to Paul for edits, and additions.

 **Orbital Platform C**

 **Emergency Power Core F-7**

 **Two hundred miles above Terra Nova.**

 ** _18 hours before the Commission ceremony ..._**

"I can't stay long," K'rilish said. "People will notice that I am gone."

"I know," answered Owen in ancient Cait. "But I have what you want. Its performed flawlessly under testing

and is 98% functional."

The Commander and Scientist placed a small gun colored case on the floor of the un-active back up reactor core. It occurred to K'rilish that Owen had a flair for meeting in such places, but mainly because they were insulated from internal and external sensors.

"What do you mean by 98%? ... " asked the Admiral carefully. His deep voiced echoed off the insulated nanopolymer tiles that sealed the two men in near darkness. Frost curled from the Caitian's lips.

"It's a 2% problem that used to be a 20% one," answered the Scientist. His Cait was excellent, and K'rilish could

barely hear any accent.

Opening the cover the quantum physicist removed a ten centimeter long metallic cylinder that was as thick as a bottle of wine.

"Once installed in the Bonnie's tactical matrix, and turned on, the Phantom Shields will be active for twenty minutes."

He shrugged. "Thirty minutes if you shunt non-essential power sources to it, but there's a good chance your shield

matrix will be burned out if you do."

Phantom Shield. K'rilish knew Owen had been secretly working on the idea for the last year and a half. Once activated a ship's modified shield matrix made it nearly impossible for an enemy ship's sensors to lock onto them with a torpedo solution. For all intents and purposes, from a sensor dish's point of view, it would be like looking at a shimmering and shifting mirage. A phantom. More, phaser or disrupter fire attacks would be refracted, or bent by the new shield configuration, the way a ray of light would be bent when entering the medium of water. A vessel equipped with the new configuration wound be nearly impossible to hit.

"Likewise, your own sensors will be degraded by 30%, unless you drop to manual targeting," added Owen. He puffed out a breath. Frost followed. "Training with the Phantom Shields could lessen that percentage."

K'rilish was thinking along the same lines, but to do so - openly - would reveal what he hoped to be an ace up his sleeve, one reserved only for a crisis situation. The best part was that the device was "technically" legal, and not a violation of _Treaty of Algernon_ which banned cloaking technology from the Federation.

"but - " Owen cleared his throat. He wasn't done. "Here's the thing. Once activated, after twenty minutes, that's it.

The matrix's toast. Burnt out."

The Commander tossed his head from side to side and shrugged again.

"Unless you have one hell of an Engineer on hand. Maybe they can cannibalize it for a second, albeit limited run."

"And this is something that you can't over come?" asked K'rilish with a note of disappointment.

"The 20% problem was the matrix violently exploding when it burned out. Ka-boom!"

Owen's hand mimed the shape of a mushroom cloud. Or fireworks, K'rilish wasn't sure.

"The 2% fix is now just a fried duotronic circuit board. Given our time and your deadline it's the best I could do, sir," offered

the Scientist.

Knowing that the admission of a less than perfect success - on any given project - wasn't something the Scientist easily confessed, K'rilish shook his head.

"You've done well, Owen. Thank you."

Replacing the matrix core he closed the case and handed it over to the Admiral.

"My pleasure, sir," recited the Scientist. He licked his lips. He had a troubled look. "Kri ... there's something I need in return."

"Oh?" K'rilish flicked an ear. The Admiral could sense Owen was about to ask something unusual.

As the Commanding Officer of an _Oberth Class_ science vessel one would think Commander Owen Cross' commission would fall under the jurisdiction of Starfleet's Science Division.

It wasn't.

Both the _USS Edison_ and _Tesla_ flew under the flag of Starfleet Tactical. As one of Admiral K'rilish's top scientists Owen was responsible for the R and D testing of top secret experimental technology, and weapons. Not only was the Quantum Physicist easily qualified for the post (both he and Renn) it was a commission Owen eagerly agreed to ... under one condition.

He would be able to continue the search for his best friend, Fleet Captain Jexe O'Dag.

K'rilish granted Owen the caveat as long as it didn't interfere with his primary duties. The scientist consented. Over time not only did Owen pursue his new commission, he made it a point that Captain Renn would _not_ be allowed any involvement in the development of WMDs. Such a task would be relegated to Owen, and his science team alone, as if to spare his best friend (and Renn was equally as much as Jexe) the cost of his soul if he were to have a hand in the creation of any horrific weapon.

That had been nearly 20 years ago.

In hindsight Owen had even avoided developing any significant weapons. One of his first task (the order had come from Starfleet Command in 2308) was to build upon the proto-matter weapon S'harien had created. To the surprise of all Owen did the opposite.

He had found an effective way to detect proto-matter, and enhance its unstable nature, rendering it all but inert as a WMD. The research had earned him a _Federation Star for Distinguished Service,_ and a command of his own ship.

K'rilish looked at the case in his hand. Over the years Owen had created devices and breakthroughs that were designed to save more lives than take them. His Phantom Shields were just such an example.

The _Edison's_ CO continued, "Renn and Cass have found something ... our strongest lead on Jexe."

"Owen ... " began K'rilish.

Though he had granted the Science Officer the freedom to find his friend, for K'rilish that meant to find Jexe's body, or the reasons behind his demise. K'rilish had hoped against hope that one of the few Officers he respected and served with was still alive, but after nearly two decades it was -

"Just ... just hear me out," interjected Owen. He held up both his palms in a halting manner. "And I'm turning the flippant tone all the way down."

K'rilish could see he was being serious. He responded with a heavy sigh. "Very well, Owen."

Reaching within the folds of his jacket, Owen produced a PADD and he handed it to the Admiral.

"Two weeks ago Renn was following an X-files lead - " The Scientist paused off K'rilish's look. Like Owen, Renn's vessel was under the Command of Starfleet Tactical. Where Owen pursued the fleet's military R and D ambitions, Renn took on the responsibility of investigating unexplained phenomena that had bearing on the security of the the Federation. X-files as the scientist jokingly called them, though Kri guessed it was in reference to any number of ancient Human pop-culture genres of entertainment that the scientist were infatuated with. Kri preferred the military nomenclature.

"... Sorry, UnSub," pronounced Owen firmly. Unsub - **Un** know **Sub** ject. He allowed K'rilish to absorb the information on the screen.

"This is a chart of the _Delphi Ardu System_ ," stated the Admiral.

"Yes," replied Owen. "Outside of the lower edge of Federation Space between our border and the _Taurus Reach_. The system is currently a scattered area of colonist - eleven planets, who mostly make their living in sanitation and reclamation."

Owen was using the formal term for interstellar junkyards.

"The area is also infamous for pirate havens. Nausicaan, Orion, Human and Tellarite," continued the scientist.

"Renn was doing a follow up report concerning a number of distress calls from the colonies. It lead to a phenomena

that the locals called the _Walking Night_."

K'rilish looked at the PADD again.

"This seems to be about a series of interconnected black outs that were plaguing a number of colonies. Nothing really out of the ordinary," he said.

"Aye," agreed Owen. "Until you get to the point where in every black out event the sensor logs of the colony, from civilian to their administrative authorities, were wiped clean - specifically _during_ the blackout. Admiral, this included everything from a centralized computer core to individual PADDs."

The Admiral lifted his eyes from the screen.

"Interesting. But this sounds like the efforts of organized criminals covering their tracks."

"My thoughts too," said Owen, "Except nothing was ever stolen ... physically. The point of these disruptions may have been to acquire information. Data."

Stepping forward Owen swiped the PADD screen to another page.

"The second to last place the _Walking Night_ hit was not only a pirate enclave, but a disavowed branch of the Orion Syndicate.

The _Morakos Brotherhood_."

Owen could see he finally had K'rilish's attention.

The _Morakos_ were a notorious group known to have broken free of the seductive powers of their female counter-parts, and were utmost a male only organization. Known primarily as information brokers, they used everything from gossip, rumors to the kidnapping of children to gain confidential and military intelligence. In return they would often blackmail, extort and coerce their victims for money, and power while selling any vital intel on the black market.

K'rilish swiped down more pages then paused. Owen knew few things made the Caitian wince. The next set of images did.

"What am I looking?" he asked.

"The former senior core members of of the _Morakos_ ," answered Owen "Someone ... or thing, found then and beat them all within an inch of their lives. We're talking life long injuries. Not one of them is going to look, walk or eat right ever again."

Page after page looked like the massacre of a mob hit.

"Beat them?" asked K'rilish with a note of astonishment.

Owen nodded.

"Aye. As far as we can tell there was no evidence of any energy weapons being used on the outlaws. This was a stand up fight.

The _Morakos_ lost."

K'rilish counted over a dozen Orions. Big. Muscular. Orions. Having encountered them in the past he knew that they were far from a weak species.

"Was anything taken from these criminals?" asked the Admiral. Owen lowered his chin twice.

"Everything, sir. Their entire data banks - archives of information - all gone.

Kri ... whatever this was it was a clean, efficient operation, but also ... "

The Scientist looked at the images on the screen.

"Given the callus nature of the attacks it was also emotional. Ruthless ... "

" _Personal_ ," finished the Admiral. His brow furrowed. "You said this was the second to last place this ... _Walking Nigh_ t attacked.

What was the last?"

"Here."

Owen swiped to another screen. The Admiral sucked air between his teeth. His mind read and re-read a single file name.

Dr. Sonden.

Sonden was a Denobulan quantum theorist who had dedicated his life to the study of a singular artifact, an entity that was one of the Federation's greatest secrets. The doctor's name was also linked to a number of scientist who were accused of selling secrets to various high bidders outside the Federation. Though nothing concrete was tied to the Denobulan, the accusation resulted in him being removed from his primary research site, and confined to a Federation think tank compound located on _Sigma Iotia II_.

"Are you saying this _Walking Night_ hit our science compound on the Iotian Homeworld? If so, why haven't I been notified?" asked K'rilish. It was not so much a question as it sounded like a demand.

"It's probably best if you watch the file," answered Owen. He hit play on Dr. Sonden's log entry.

 **[** ** _File document DF1105 - Resuming ..._**

 _(The head and shoulder image of the Denoblan filled the screen. Behind him could be seen the decor of his person quarters including an unmade bed.)_

 _"Dr. Sonden person log entry, Day 608, Fifth Morning Cycle. I have overslept this morning apparently due to an unexplained power outage, so to speak, and if indeed this is what has happened."_

 _(The quantum theorist deeply yawned, and rubbed an eye with the knuckles of his left hand.)_

 _"But apparently I have been made the butt of a practical joke."_

 _(His eyebrows arched high for emphasis.)_

 _"And though I can appreciate this world's infatuation with Earth's gangster history, I do believe ... "_

 _(Reaching below the bottom frame the doctor lifted a cumbersome object into view and rested it on his work console. It was the head of a Worker Bot, an old one, but one Kri instantly recognized. It was Ron - Unit 6478, Service Droid Class VI - Ultron, the same Bot Owen had personally reprogramed and given to Jexe on the day of his departure fromthe Taurus Fleet.)_

 _"... placing the head of this thing under my bedsheets this morning was in bad taste. And I'm looking at you in particular,_

 _Dr. Esposito, because it was you who took me to The Godfather Festival last week. Horse head indeed - "_

 _(The image stopped and froze in place.)_

 ** _File document DF1105 - Suspended ..._** **]**

"That ... that can't be - " began K'rilish.

"It is," finished Owen. "Look."

Working the control of the PADD the Commander zoomed to a spot just above the Bot's ocular sensors. On the chipped and rusted forehead were the inscribed words,

 _See you later alligator!_

"Those are my words, sir! My hand writing. I wrote that as part of my going away present to Jexe. The phrase is one of the first

jokes I taught him when we first met almost 30 years ago."

Reaching into his uniform pocket he took out fist size rock and held it up for the Admiral to see. An inscription was craved into the stone's rough surface.

 _After while crocodile!_

"This is one of the first stones from Jexe's rock collection. He passed it on to me before he left."

K'rilish pursed his lips against his fangs and felt his tail twitch in an erratic way.

 _It couldn't be, he thought._

"Owen," he began, "Even if this is the same Bot you gave Jexe, it's been nearly 20 years since anyone's seen him.

This is just ... this could be a coincidence."

"I know, sir." The Commander tapped the screen. "But the Bot unit has a redundant backup drive locate in its head module.

If we can download it, it could give so many of the answers we'vebeen looking for."

The Admiral made a noncommittal grunt. "I see. If you're seeking permission to examine it, I can ... "

Owen shook his head.

"We've already arrange to have a private courier transport it out, sir. Renn and the _Tesla_ are meeting them halfway.

That'll be about two days from now."

"Then what is this really about then?" K'rilish asked. His impatience was growing.

Owen tucked the PADD back under his uniform jacket, and placed his hands behind his back. In the dim environmental lights

of the core he looked ten times older than he was. It was then K'rilish realize how the years of searching for his friend had taken

their toll on him.

"I think you know the answer, sir. This _Walking Night_ \- if it _is_ Jexe, then he paid a visit to Dr. Sonden specifically for information only he would know. Sir, it has to be the location of the site."

The Scientist pointed, not at the closest nanopolymer tile, but to the entire galaxy beyond.

"Admiral, I need those same coordinates."

"Owen, this sounds insane!" The swish of his tail grew faster. "If Jexe truly is alive why wouldn't be just ... tell us?"

The two men locked eyes for three even seconds. Owen flicked off a single finger in count.

"The trail he's been leaving, the discovery of Ron, and now the knowledge of where he may be going ...Kri ... I think he has!

This is Jexe, and everything we've uncovered ... it's a message he's left specifically for us."

K'rilish chewed his bottom lip in silence. He paced about in thought.

"Why? Why now, and why in this manner?" he asked. But it was a hollow question. As much as he hated to admit it,

Owen's evidence was compelling.

"I - I don't know, sir. But whatever he's doing I think he wants us there too, and maybe only us."

The Admiral lowered his head and balled his hands into fist. The sound of cracking knuckles echoed off the surrounding tiles.

"Owen, all of this is - the timing on the onset of our mission, the information you revealed, I find it all unnerving."

"Sir, given where Jexe may be going, it's terrifying! We're talking about the nature of our very existence."

The Admiral pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Damn!" he growled. "All right, I'lI have the coordinates sent to you, encryption level Omega, along with the permission to enter the quarantined space. You should know that region is notoriously unstable. Your current helmsmen may not be up for the challenge."

"I anticipated that, sir. I've arrange to have a consultant come aboard just for that job."

"Who?" asked K'rilish with a pang of suspicion. Owen gave him the name, and the Caitian smiled.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you've been planning this all along," said K'rilish.

"Renn and Cass said the same thing," answered the Commander. "Given the nature of what can happen, I'd say it's fate."

The Admiral scoffed.

"I hate that word." he sighed. He felt cold inside a power core. Was such a thing possible? "Are we done here then?"

"Aye that, sir," said Owen.

"Good. Will you be staying for the ceremony?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides ... " the Scientist shrugged. "It would look suspicious, if not odd, if the _Edison_ were to be seen leaving early, especially with the all the quadrant watching."

"That it would." K'rilish tagged his Comm-badge.

"Hey, Admiral, did Luther contact you?" asked the Commander. "He called me early last night about borrowing a suit."

The Admiral allowed a slight curl to the corners of his lips.

"Pilar, we're done here," said the Admiral in Federation Standard. "Beam us back."

[Yes, sir.]

Twin coronas of light whisked both men away, the Admiral back to his home office on Homespun, while Owen was returned to the transporter room of the _USS Edison_.

"Success, sir?" asked the Commander's First Officer. Owen stepped off the transporter pad.

"We're a-go!" answered the CO. Both men fell in step, shoulder to shoulder, and exited the room. Lt. Commander Bernard 'Buddy' Pratt allowed himself a lopsided grin.

"Outstanding, sir."

Owen withdrew his PADD from under his jacket.

"That remains to be seen, cause this is actually the easy part."

The two men stopped in front of a turbo lift. Owen continued.

"Regardless, prepare the crew. After the ceremony, at this time tomorrow, we set course for the Guardian of Forever."

 **Admiral K'rilish**

 **Starfleet Tactical Command**

 **Commander Pilar**

 **Adjunct**

 **Starfleet Tactical Command**

 **Commander Owen Cross**

 **Commanding Officer**

 **Lt. Commander Bernard 'Buddy' Pratt**

 **First Officer**

 **USS Edison NCC 4933**


	22. Lessons

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 **Lessons**

 **by Paul B**

 _"_ _We are facing an enemy that is consumed and committed to our total destruction…an enemy that demands to be fought…and we_ will _fight. But I say to you our greatest challenge is not the might of a Klingon fleet. The greatest challenge laying before us is to do what must be done without undoing the dream of the Federation. For myself, I have but one fear…destroying the dream of the Federation. Compared to such a loss, I do not fear the Klingon Empire. "_ Admiral Ramirez' first address to the Federation as CinC. Stardate 2243.3

 **2244**

 **Rigel III – Operation Retake**

 **The Four Years War**

 **75 years earlier.**

ON:

The Witches Oven. It's what the Rigellians called the largest desert region of Rigel III. It was a very hot place with scrabble vegetation, endless flat lands of cracked earth, and unrelenting sand storms from the dune regions to the west. Inhabited only the employees and contractors of the mining organizations that extracted dilithium from the depths of the planet, The Witches Oven was a place no one would ever want to visit by choice.

But the Klingons had. Having taken the Rigel System during their invasion a year earlier, they laid siege to Rigel III and sought to keep it. The dilithium in the Witches Oven was their prize, but as they began to cleanse the world of non-Klingons, the endless desert soon proved to have another, more sinister, use.

K'rilish stepped back as he watched Lance Corporal Burke come marching down the hill. Burke was a big man by human standards, "beefy" was the term he had liked to use, and there was hardly anything that bothered him.

Something was wrong. Burke's face was white, and his eyes were glazed as if he were lost in thought. As he reached the bottom of the hill out of sight from the others, he dropped to his knees and he began to vomit.

"Are you okay, Burke?" asked K'rilish. He would have raised his ears with concern had he not been wearing his MACO helmet. "What did you see?"

"Don't…." Burke began. He paused, and he wiped his mouth. "You don't want to go up there, Kri. Do yourself a favor."

That only compounded K'rilish's curiosity. Burke stood up and he walked back towards the shuttlecraft, leaving K'rilish to look up the hill. Two others from his unit were at the top and they were just standing there and not moving. Whatever it was it could not have been a threat. They were all holding their phaser rifles with their muzzles pointed down toward the ground.

A blast of hot wind buffeted K'rilish and it made him squint. It blew sand into his face and into his mouth, and he could never free himself of the gritty feeling he had come to hate. Having fur was of no help, and wearing a ton of protective kit only made him miserable. He couldn't take it off, either. There were still Klingon warriors hiding out on the planet since the evacuation, and they were intent on killing as many Federation personnel before they were killed.

He sighed, and he tugged at his heavy flack vest. He had been left at the base of the hill to keep an eye on the shuttlecraft, and now that Burke had returned to it, there was no use for him to keep watching it.

Curiosity finally won out and K'rilish started up the hill. It occurred to him now that the hill did not belong here by any natural formation. The land was flat for miles, but this was unusual. The Klingons had done this. But why? Had they been excavating for dilithium? It had been reason his squad was sent to check it out.

Another member of his squad came down the hill. Lance Corporal Tilasar, an Andorian, walked past K'rilish. His hands were balled into fists and the muscles on his neck were tense. He had taken off his helmet and his distinctive antennae were curled; a sign of outrage.

"Tilasar?" K'rilish called out.

The Andorian said nothing. Now the curiosity was overwhelming. K'rilish continued up the hill, the wind growing worse and the sky turning pink as another sandstorm loomed close. The squad would have to leave soon lest they be murdered in the storm, the flesh scrubbed from their bodies.

That's when the smell struck him. That familiar sickeningly sweet scent related to all things dead and dying. But this was worse than anything K'rilish could remember. As the wind curled itself over the top of the hill, it carried that smell. K'rilish found his pace slowing.

 _"_ _Whiskey Six. Please report."_

The voice was coming from Sergeant Tracy Berkhoff's communicator. She had it set to audible and it was clipped to her vest. The tall, dark haired woman was the top of the hill and she was looking down at something. Something was clasped in her left hand and K'rilish immediately recognized it as pendant she wore around her neck and she was whispering a prayer.

 _"_ _Whiskey Six,"_ the communicator crackled. _"Come in. Please report."_

The wind died down and for a moment the smell went away. K'rilish worked up enough courage to reach the top of the hill. His foot struck something, and he looked down. It was an object of some sort and he bent over, and he studied it. It was a doll, a child's doll with bright pink hair and a smiling face. K'rilish picked it up and he looked to Sergeant Berkhoff.

"Sarge, do you have any idea of how this…?"

That was when he looked to his right, and over the top of hill. The doll slipped from his fingers.

The Klingons had dug a pit, and in it were thirty thousand Rigellians.

 **2319**

 **Observation Deck—Bonaventure C - Spaceframe**

Former President Ra'ghoratreii had aged well in his retirement. Dressed in a tailored suit, the tall dapper Efrosian still commanded a presence. Almost completely blind now, he wore a set of darkened spectacles to protect what was left of his vision. Those spectacles, along with his wispy white mane of hair and Fu Manchu mustache, had become a trademark that nearly all the people of the Federation remembered fondly.

But that fondness was extended beyond his appearance. Intelligent and manipulative…politicians had to be…he was an ardent supporter of a Federation that he had felt it's direction since The Four Years War. His vision, a new class of starship that would herald the "return" of the Federation to its roots of exploration and discovery, was now a reality. He was not going to miss seeing it with what he had left of his vision.

Giving the respect due to a former UFP head of state, K'rilish had waited for him at the airlock. He was dressed in a fresh new maroon uniform, and with Pilar at his side. As the doors to the airlock opened and Ra'ghoratreii entered, those who were already in attendance began to applaud. Upon cue, the orchestra on the platform of the observation deck began to play the UFP anthem.

"Former President Ra'ghoratreii and the former First Lady!" the ensign by the airlock called out.

The formal announcement drew the applaud into cheers. Ra'ghoratreii stopped and he place his hands behind his back as he bowed his head toward the crowd. It was his wife, however, who was very moved. She slid her arm around his, and she whispered thank you's.

"Mister President," K'rilish said. He stepped forward and he smiled. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Admiral,' Ra'ghoratreii answered.

K'rilish turned to Ra'ghoratreii's wife. "And Madam First Lady. I have arranged a table for your party at the front of the room in the VIP section. I would be honored to take you there."

"We will be honored, Admiral." Ra'ghoratreii's wife said.

Stepping aside, K'rilish motioned across the observation deck. The entire forward wall of the deck was made of a single sheet of transparent aluminum. Dominating the entire view was the _USS Bonaventure-C._ The _Ambassador Class_ starship was darkened save only for the lights from its windows. The bustling work crews in pressure suits, work bees, and cargo tenders had been cleared just hours earlier.

The view from the observation deck to the ship was even with the engineering hull. It was so large that most of the upper portion of the saucer section and it's nacelles were out of view. Ra'ghoratreii stopped and he looked at the ship. He raised his hand to his spectacles and he pressed a stud that adjusted the lenses. For a long time, he was silent as he stared at the new starship.

"It is magnificent," he said at last.

"Please pardon the lack of exterior illumination, Sir," K'rilish explained. He held his smile. "It is part of the spectacle, but I promise you that you will see ship in its proper glory soon enough."

"I find it as such now," the former President said. He permitted a soft smile. "Thank you again, Admiral."

K'rilish stepped around to one of the chairs at the table and he held it out for the first lady to seat while the rest of Ra'ghoratreii's party seated themselves. Seeing the cue, Pilar nodded toward the stage that was set up in front of the observation deck windows. The full Starfleet orchestra, dressed in white, sat down at their chairs. At the front the Tellarite conductor stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I present to you all for the first time, a holographic simulacrum of Frank Sinatra!"

A collective gasp of astonishment passed over the room. The lights over the stage dimmed except for a lone light at the front center portion of the stage. An image flickered for a second, and then it sharpened into clarity. As if he had appeared from a time machine, Frank Sinatra from the year 1965 appeared. He was dressed in a tuxedo and in his left hand was a corded microphone. As he stepped forward he started snapping his right hand in snyc with the orchestra which began to play "Fly Me To The Moon."

If the applause for Ra'ghoratreii was loud, the result from the onlookers was even louder. Holographic technology was not new to the Federation, but something on the level that everyone was witnessing was way beyond they thought were the limitations for the time. In another planned move by Pilar, Starfleet stewards appeared. Dressed in black uniforms with blue epaulets and polished belt buckles they threaded among the crowd with trays of Cristal champagne and hors de oeuvres.

The party had just started, and it was going very well.

"Has anyone from the _Bonaventur_ e showed up yet?" K'rilish asked.

"Not yet, Sir," said Pilar. "There is still an hour until the formal commissioning."

"I also want to know when Maria Fernandez arrives. She has a seat with the former President and family." K'rilish said.

Pilar nodded. She then leaned in close to K'rilish. "I must inform you that there are updates regarding the negotiations with the Cardassians. The CinC would like an update on the _Bonaventure's_ commissioning."

 _Already_?, K'rilish thought. He sighed. "Very well. Where's the office?"

"I will show you, Sir."

Pilar guided K'rilish around the tables and mingling guests toward the back of the observation deck. Along the way he had to stop and say hello to well-wishers and guests most of whom he didn't know names. Fortunately, for him, Pilar would lean in and whisper a name without the guest being unware. After what seemed an uncomfortably long time, they finally reached the back of the observation deck.

Captain Bannerjee was standing nearby. K'rilish could see that the man was concerned about something.

"Captain," K'rilish said. "I thought you were going to remain on the _Bonaventure_."

"What is this that I heard that you want the _Bonaventure_ to proceed at warp 9.2?" Bannerjee asked.

"That is correct," K'rilish answered. "Pilar informed your yeoman, Ensign Randall. If he failed to give you that information in a timely manner, it's not my concern."

"He gave it to me as soon as he received and it's not a matter of clarifying the warp speed, Admiral," Bannerjee said in his clipped Oxford accent. "Warp 9.2 is sustainable for only 12 hours by specification, and we have not yet reached that part of the field trials."

"Starfleet Engineering has assured me that it can be done," K'rilish said.

Bannerjee looked around the observation deck and he stepped closer to K'rilish. "The _USS Ambassador's_ was trial testing 9.2 when it ran into problems. I advise you, Admiral, that we should hold at 8.8."

"Negative," K'rilish shot back. "We are going at warp 9.2. I must reach Starbase 621 to offload our guests and to make necessary preparations. Didn't we talk about this?"

"I understand the situation as you told me, Sir, but this is a matter of safety," Bannerjee said. He pointed at the room. "There are civilians here and we must take their safety into account."

K'rilish felt the fur rise on the back of his neck. "That's why we will monitor everything, Captain, and if there is so much as an issue we will reduce warp speed. Has the _Bonaventure_ reached warp 9.2?"

"For short durations and no more than hour," said Bannerjee.

"And there were no issues. Yes?"

Seeing where K'rilish was heading, Bannerjee raised his hand. "That is for an hour, Sir. Your order implies a full twelve hours with the ship cycling down to warp 8.8 for cool down. That's a lot of…."

Bannerjee was cut off by the crowd which began to applause. On the stage, Frank Sinatra began to talk to the Tellarite conductor in what was a display of the holosimulators AI. He cracked a joke that won the crowd over in a chorus laughter. Snapping his fingers, he then launched into "The Way You Look Tonight".

"I'd tell you to get a drink, but you're on duty, Captain," said K'rilish. "My order remains. With every minute we delay, the lives of our people on Bajor are threatened, and we could find ourselves in a war with the Cardassians."

"I want my concerns logged, Sir," Bannerjee said. He shook his head. "I can't believe Starfleet Command agreed to this…madness."

"I wouldn't have done it had I not their assurances," K'rilish growled. He was quickly losing his patience. "I could put you through to the CinC if you wish. By the end of the week you will be piloting a cargo ship on the Tellarite run, and it won't be me making that happen."

The two were locked in visual standoff with K'rilish ready to order Bannerjee into the office so any onlookers would not take notice of their argument. Members of the press brigade were beginning to arrive, and they were already working their way through the crowds with their headset cameras and recorders in hand.

A steward appeared, and she whispered something to Pilar. The Vulcan then looked to K'rilish.

"Governor Savion and his family have arrived."

K'rilish did not break his gaze from Bannerjee. "Pilar, contact Starfleet Engineering and have them re-run their models regarding the issues of the _USS Ambassador_ and then run a probability assessment with the _Bonaventure-C_. I want the results within the hour."

The lines on the Vulcan's face deepened as she weighed what would be needed to carry out the request. "Yes, Sir. I will do so immediately."

Pilar entered through the doors and into the make-shift office.

"If Starfleet Engineering's probability assessment is less than one hundred percent, I will not only reduce warp flight form 9.2, but I will cancel the tour," K'rilish continued. "That is how confident I am in their abilities. Will that suffice?"

"I must ask that my chief engineering officer is part of the reassessment and that he agrees with the outcome," Bannerjee answered.

"Have him contact Commander Pilar and make the arrangements," K'rilish replied. He raised his hand and he pointed the clawed tip of his finger at him. "This ship will be put on display before the entire galaxy, Captain, and the powers that want to threaten the Federation will see it is capable of protecting itself. Do not get in the way of that, Captain."

"I told you that I understand the situation, Sir," Bannerjee said. "Do not think I do not wish to avoid a war."

K'rilish grunted. "You haven't seen a war to know how much you want to avoid it, Captain. Now, excuse me, I would very much like to meet an old friend."


	23. A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

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 **"A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words"**

 **by Mitch**

 **Stardate AD 2319**

 **Bird of Prey** ** _IKS San ghop_**

 **Personal Quarters of General MaHk'Tar**

He ran his thumb over the edge of the old photograph as he sat at his desk. It was worn and rounded at 3 corners from being handled constantly over the years. The man in the picture was a tall, lanky human in his late 30's with blond hair, greying at the temples, like wingtips and a kind smile on his face. The woman was slender, with sandy blond hair, and the proud smile that only a mother was capable of. The boy, curiously enough was a Klingon child, tall for his age, with long, curly, jet black hair that waved to his shoulder blades. He had an unabashed, and innocent smile that was alien to any child raised on Kronos. It was this boy that MaHk'Tar concentrated on, for he was looking at his 13 year old self and remembering a time when he was not a feared warrior, a time when life had been much simpler, much happier. A time when…

"Father, what are you doing home so early?" asked MaHk'Tar as he walked down the steps of the front porch to wrap his father in a warm embrace.

"You didn't think I forgot about your special day did you?" replied William.

William Conrad worked in the embassy in San Francisco and typically had long days at work. They had been longer than usual as of late, due to the tensions between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. No matter how difficult work became though, he refused to let it interfere with this special day.

"Oh, and what makes today special?" the boy asked with a mischievious smile. It was his birthday and while he did not understand it at the time, he would come to find out later what made a Klingon male's 13th birthday such a grand occasion.

"Well, if it's just an ordinary day, I suppose I can always go back to work" he said with mock indifference and turned away to head back to the cab that had not yet left from the front of the house.

"No, no, no, I'm just kidding" laughed MoHk'Tar as he pulled his father back around by the arm playfully.

"Are you two horse playing in the yard again?" asked a woman's voice from inside the house. "Bill, come inside and bring Mark with you so that he can blow out the candles on his birthday cake. He's been waiting all day for you to get home."

"On our way, dear" was William's response. "Well, the boss has spoken son."

"Coming, Mom" said Mark as he rushed up the steps into the house.

William walked up the steps and into the house, turned left and walked straight into the kitchen to see Mark standing excitedly by the giant, birthday cake sitting on the kitchen counter. The cake was covered in chocolate frosting, Mark's favorite, embroidered around the edges. 13 candles were spaced out evenly in the center of the cake and underneath them were the words Happy Birthday Mark. As he walked in, Mary, his wife, Mark's mother, finished lighting the candles and came walking up to him to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Mary Conrad was a slim, attractive woman in her mid-thirties with sandy blond hair. She was an English teacher at Teddy Roosevelt Middle School and the love of William's life. She was a kind and caring woman who had not hesitated in the least to take in an orphaned Klingon child all those years ago when MaHk'Tar, or Mark as she called him, had first come into their lives.

"How was work?" she asked as she stepped back from his embrace.

"Oh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of stuffy dignitaries making unreasonable demands on Starfleet" he replied.

Mary knew that her husband was only teasing and loved his job dearly. He loved meeting with emissaries from other cultures more than anything. Anything of course except his wife and son.

The two of them walked over to join Mark at the counter who had been waiting anxiously by the cake.

"Well, son are you ready to blow out the candles?" his father asked.

"Born ready, been ready" Mark laughed in reply.

"Don't forget to make a wish, as you blow them out" his mother chided.

"I won't, Mom"

MaHk'Tar stared long and hard at the cake. He closed his eyes and thought about what he wanted more than anything else in the world, Earth citizenship. It was the only way that he would be able to follow in his father's footsteps and become a diplomat. He opened his eyes with a smile and blew as hard as he could. All the candles winked out as his parents applauded and sang "Happy Birthday" to him.

His personal intercom buzzed and snapped him back to the present.

"Who is it?" MaHk'Tar asked impatiently as he pushed the intercom button on his desk. He did not like being interrupted when he was recollecting past events.

"Lieutenant Jarg, general. Permission to enter?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Very well" he replied.

The door opened as Jarg strode in. He was over 6 ft. tall with deep ridges on his dark forehead and an ambitious gleam in his eyes. MaHk'tar disliked him. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something behind those eyes that he did not trust.

"What do you want Jarg?"

"A Denobulan merchant ship has been spotted about 10,000 kilometers off our starboard side" Jarg replied.

"I do not care about some random Denobulan merchant ship. Why are you bothering me with this nonsense, Lieutenant?" He stood up to his full height, well over 7 feet, and placed the photograph face down on his desk as he asked the question.

"But, sir, they will be easy pickings. Perhaps some of them could even serve as slaves for the Klingon Empire" Jarg replied confidently.

The general waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned away to look out the window into the infinity of space. Jarg continued to speak at MaHk'Tar's back and MaHk'Tar could feel the anger rising within him.

"What is wrong with you lately, general?" he asked. "You are not acting in accordance with the wishes of the High Council."

MaHk'Tar laughed derisively at this as he turned around. "What do you know of the High Council's wishes boy?"

Jarg was at a loss for words. He had expected to be congratulated or praised for relaying what he thought was valuable information. Instead he had been met with a condescending dismissal. The silence was becoming deafening

"Well, Lieutenant?" asked MaHk'Tar. His voice was tinged with impatience again. "If there is nothing else, you are dismissed". He put a special emphasis on the last word so that there would be no question or debate from the junior officer.

Jarg snapped to attention, promptly did an about face, turning sharply on his heel, and exited the general's quarters.

MaHk'Tar sat back down at his desk, as he watched Jarg exit the room. "I will have to keep my eyes on that one. He is too ambitious and impertinent for his own good." He thought to himself. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something about the ambitious look in Jarg's eyes that he didn't trust. Yes, he decided, he would definitely need to be aware of his surroundings when Jarg was in his presence. As a Klingon warrior, and especially as a general, he couldn't afford to grow complacent. Complacency led to a d'k'tahg between the ribs.

He picked the photograph back up and began thinking back again to a life that was so long ago, it seemed as though it had happened to someone else. This time, though, the memory was hazy and disjointed and he couldn't concentrate on it before it slipped away. He growled and slammed the picture down. Jarg was lucky he was not there at that moment or he might have been making an involuntary journey to StoVoKor. MaHk'Tar pushed the intercom button on his desk.

"Captain Vexor, how long until we arrive at K'etzokl?"

"Two days, General" came Vexor's voice through the speaker. After a moment of silence the captain continued "Will she be there, General?" he asked pensively.

"I have been told that she is already there," MaKh'Tar said with satisfaction. "Inform me when we arrive." He turned off the intercom before Vexor could reply. There was much to contemplate, much strategizing to do before they arrived at their destination.

He wondered how Azette would react after all these years. Would she even remember him? He had no doubt she would know his name. Everyone in the Klingon Empire knew his name, but would she remember the tall, gangly, awkward youth that she had met all those years ago? For a moment doubt began to enter his mind. He shook it off vigorously and smiled to himself. He would make her remember. He had to. For the sake of all the Klingon refugees, he had to convince her. He folded his hands in front him and began to think about the past once again.


	24. Luther Stahl Plus Two

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 **Luther Plus Two**

 **by Paul B**

 **Terra Nova**

 **2319**

 **T-minus four hours until launch**

 _ON:_

One mention of Admiral K'rilish and Luther was treated as if he were royalty. The shop in Terra Nova resembled that of English tailor right down to the walnut wood paneling, rich green carpeting, and rows upon rows of colored fabrics and racks full of formal ware. It even had a tailor with grey hair and an English accent who wasted no time in getting Luther what he needed.

"Yes, the Admiral has a distinct taste for the cut of his uniforms," the tailor said. "We don't get many Caitian Starfleet officers, so we find his visits to be a joy."

"Really?" Luther said with disbelief. He could not imagine K'rilish eyeing the swatches of fabric on the cutting table or asking about how his maroon jack settled on his shoulders. The life of an Admiral had really changed him.

Or softened him.

A proper suit would have taken several days, but the people at Williamsons were not without using technology. In three hours, Luther had a new suit that was placed on K'rilish's account. Feeling vaguely like a mooch, Luther was not above adding socks and shoes to the order. The tailor was grinning, and he even opened the door to the shop for Luther upon leaving.

The meal at the officer's club that Luther had after his shopping spree was a gift by Tirin. Upon loving Homespun she slipped a piece of paper with K'rilish's account into Luther's hand and she wished him a good lunch. That was Tirin. Always thinking of someone else.

For an hour Luther felt as if he were back in Starfleet. Being a former commander, he was still granted access to officer's facilities, but he had avoided them. Today, for the _Bonaventure's_ launch, he forwent that personal ban. He dined on a New York Strip and fresh greens, and he had a glass of Andorian sparkling water. He ignored the side glances from a few officers in the restaurant that recognized him.

After the meal, he used the subspace communications facilities to reach out to his son. Dominic had already risen for the day. He was in New York and he staying in a friend's apartment. Upon seeing the black hair, blued eye boy of nineteen on the viewer, Luther smiled.

"Did you get the news?"

"I did," Dominic said. He still had sleep in his voice. "I'm sorry. I'm still getting over a head cold. I was playing hockey last night."

"Ah, good. I see you are still getting your game in," Luther answered. "You shouldn't waste any time contacting your mother and getting that part out of the way. You know how she is going to act, but give her some slack. She is a mother and she will worry."

"Yeah, well, that's Mom," Dominic answered. He paused, and he rubbed one of his eyes. "Dad…why Psi Epsilon III? I was hoping to go to the Presidio where some of my friends are attending."

Remembering K'rilish's requirements, Luther had not relayed them to Dominic. "That's the only open slot, I'm afraid. You'll make some friends there, Dom, I guarantee it. Of course, Starfleet Academy isn't a social club."

Dominic sighed and when he spoke he sounded defensive. "Are you doubting me? I told you I can handle it, Dad. I can do this."

"I know you can," Luther said. He tried not to sound desperate as he had lately argued with Dominic more than he talked to him. "I just want you to know that life in Starfleet Academy is not like college. You will have fun, but there's work, too."

 _And that you're going to have a commandant that trained under my former commanding officer watching you and reporting back to him,_ Luther thought. He did not want to tell Dominic this. Secretly, and to his own disgust, he really wanted to see if Dominic could handle it. Was that wrong?

"I know, and I heard that a million times," Dominic answered. "Dad, I have to go. Okay? I like to spend the last few days I have before I leave."

He was angry and once again leaving Luther with conversation that had not ended well. Luther responded with his best encouraging smile.

"I understand, but call me when you leave for…."

"Bye," Dominic said, and the viewer went blank.

The lunch that Luther had enjoyed was roiling in his stomach when he returned to the Motel Six. It was located near the Terra Novan Intergalactic Hub, a spaceport, commerce, and trading district. Unfortunately, the accommodations Luther could afford put him in the area where there was a lot of noise from the spaceport and from a nearby a highway. The motel had that run-down look as if corporate was deciding to waste the funds renovating it or shutting it down.

He did not see the pistachio shells on the ground when he pressed the pass card into the door's security slot. As he opened the door, a set of blue hands reached out and grabbed Luther from the front of his shirt. He was thrown across the room and onto the sofa along the wall, his suit in its protective cover falling alongside him.

An Andorian, a very thin and reedy looking figure, loomed over him. He wore a long coat, dark clothes and his white hair hung in locks over his shoulders. One antennae was bent in the wrong direction and he looked at Luther with his hands balled into fists.

"Grel," Luther said. He muttered a curse word. Looking to his right, saw another Andorian. He was much larger, fat but not obese, standing in the shadows of the room. "And Othel."

The mute Andorian just nodded, his antennae twitching perceptively.

Another figure stepped from the shadows where Othel was standing. Aged fifty with jet black hair that was greased back along his large head was Boz. The human wheezed as he walked, his three-hundred-pound girth the cause for his breathing. He wore a tan suit with a nice expensive camel's hair coat.

Seeing Boz, Luther felt his stomach go cold. That man, and his goons, were the last people he ever wanted to see.

He stood up. "Boz," he said.

"Shut up!" Grel yelled.

Luther closed his mouth while Boz looked around the motel room. He shook his head as if he were disappointed.

"Dammit, Luther, this place is a real shithole." He spoke with an accent that was Middle Eastern.

Grel stepped forward and he kicked one of the side tables. One of its legs collapsed and the lamp on top it fell over and shattered on the floor.

"What can I say, Boz. Credits have been a little tight lately," Luther said.

"Amazing isn't it?" Boz said. He stepped over the broken table and lamp. "The Federation supposedly offers the freedom from materialism and want, but those things still exist for people like us."

"At least for some," Luther added.

Boz noticed the suit laying atop of the sofa. He stared at the name on the protective cover. "Williamsons?" he said. "You can afford that?"

"It's from a friend."

"A friend from Starfleet?" asked Boz. He picked up the suit and he unzipped the cover. "Oh, this a real beaut, Luther. Even I don't have something as nice as this! It's tailored too, I take it?"

Luther noticed Grel started to walk a wide circle around him. He kept his eyes on Boz.

"Of course."

Boz nodded and he dropped the suit to the sofa. He snapped his fingers at Othel who immediately stepped forward. The goon thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat and Luther winced in anticipation of what he was going to take out of the pocket. When Othel pulled his hand out, he held a white paper bag which he tossed toward Boz.

"My physician says I need to eat more nuts for the roughage," Boz explained. "I've taken to pistachios. You want some, Luther?"

"Ah, no, I never cared for them," Luther replied. With Grel now standing behind him, he nervously tugged at his shirt collar.

"Have a seat, Luther. We need to talk." Boz said. He eased his bulk into the sofa.

Luther gave a nervous smile and he answered. "I think I am…."

Grel's hands slammed down onto his shoulders and he was forced into the arm chair behind him.

"On second thought, I think I will sit," Luther finished.

"Luther, Luther, Luther," Boz said. He thrust his hands into the bag and he pulled some red dyed pistachios. Plump fingers with dirty finger nails pried at a shell. "You really fell from the graces of old. For crying out loud, Man. A Motel Six?"

"The damn things are everywhere and they're cheap." Luther said. He looked up at Grel who was not smiling.

Freeing a nut, Boz popped it into his mouth. He wiped the red dye on his fingers on the sofa. "You and that wife of yours used to live it up good. I was just talking to Glomus the other day about how you had style. Nothing but the best, we said. You even had a purple mansion in France. Who owns a purple mansion? Luther Stahl does! That's what I told Glomus."

Sweat beaded on Luther's forehead. He began to stand, but Grel slammed him back down into is chair. "The mansion was in Sarah's family. She's living there now."

Boz's face glowered. He grabbed a handful of pistachios and he flung them at Luther. Assailed by the red dyed nuts, Luther tried vainly to bat them away. Behind him, Grel chuckled.

"Don't get smart, Luther!" Boz said. "I had to fly out here from the Backwater to talk to you, and I am pretty annoyed. If you think I am annoyed, how do you think Glomus feels?"

Luther shrugged "Slightly aggravated?"

That resulted in a slap on the side of Luther's head by Grel.

"You crack wise too much, Luther," Boz said. He pried open another pistachio and he flicked the shells onto the floor. "You're into the Orion Syndicate ten thousand bars of gold pressed latinum plus ten points. I was thinking you may really be in a bind, but seeing that suit….I dunno. I'm thinking you may have a little tucked away."

"The suit was…"

"A gift from a friend," Boz interrupted. "A friend whom you may get a loan payment from? Is that why you ran out here to Terra Nova? I know that was a risk considering how slippery you've been."

Luther thought of his son Dominic and he shook his head slowly. "Yeah, you're right. My old friend and commander turned me down for the money. He did offer me the suit and invitation to the _Bonaventure_ launch. I guess that is all that I am worth to him."

"I know. I saw it," Boz said. He reached into his coat and he produced the handmade invitation for the _Bonaventure C_ launch. "That's pretty fancy."

"It's the big event of the year."

Boz jabbed on one his dirty finger nails into his mouth where he tried to free a piece of pistachio between his yellowed teeth. He made a sucking sound as he looked at Luther.

"Admiral Krelish…that your friends name?"

"K'rilish."

Another slap from Grel nearly sent Luther onto the floor. He heard his jaw crack and he pressed his hand to it. "Dammit, Grel. Do they teach you that in school?"

"Shut up," Grel warned.

"Well, we can't go tapping a Starfleet admiral," Boz muttered. "What about your other friends…the lower ranking ones?"

"They don't have gold pressed latinum, and besides," Luther paused, and he pressed a tongue to one of his wisdom teeth to make sure that it wasn't broken. "You mess with one of my friends and you mess with them all."

"Was that a threat?" Box said. His furrowed his brow.

"That is just a fact, Boz. You know my service history."

Boz let out a belch and he shook his head. "Shit on a shingle."

"Excuse me?" asked Luther.

The entire bag of pistachios was suddenly air born. It struck Luther on his chest and exploded in a shower of red pistachios.

"That means you're in serious trouble, Luther!" Boz yelled. He leaned forward, and he did that strange maneuver a heavy-set person did when they were sitting on a sofa that was much too low for their bulk. Luther tried not to grin when Othel stepped forward and offered to help him up.

Boz cursed and he smacked Othel's hand. "Back off!"

With a loud protesting grunt, Boz leaned forward with enough momentum that he managed to get onto his feet. More pistachios fell onto the floor.

"You're three standard weeks out from your deadline, Luther," he said. "Glomus is getting worried because it makes him look bad having deadbeats like you skip out on loans. The Syndicate doesn't like the bad exposure so that is why enforcers like me are employed. I could break one of your arms to make a point, but I see no use in it."

"I appreciate it," Luther replied.

"Stimbolts," Boz said. He looked around the room. "It didn't occur to your smart ass that you were in a dead-end business, Luther? That maybe your sweet wife and her daddy were using you?"

"There were employees to think about. I really liked the business. What can I say?" Luther said. "I thought I could turn it around."

Boz grunted. "You're a nice guy, Luther, but you are a lousy businessman. The fact remains that you have a debt to pay, or I am going to have to take you to Glomus. Sneaking out again isn't going to happen."

Luther gave his best mock looked of surprise. "What?"

This time Luther was thrown out of his chair. Grel hit him so hard that he spun about and he landed onto the floor and part of the broken end table. He let out a grunt but before he could get up, Grel stepped forward and he kicked him on his stomach. The air was pushed out of his lungs and he was left gasping.

Boz now loomed over him, his belly bulging outward from his coat. "You're sneaky, Luther, and you always got a plan which I find befuddling given how you can't run a business. That fancy new ship is heading out to Starbase 621. I'm figuring your admiral friend would work you an invitation even if he turned you down for a loan. You could slip out on the far side of the Alpha Quadrant and vanish again."

Despite the pain, Luther sucked in a much-needed breath. "That was a thought," he croaked.

"Now it's an opportunity."

Luther gave a genuine puzzled looked. "Excuse me?"

Boz gave a quick motion of his hand. Both Othel and Grel stepped forward. Each grabbed Luther by an arm and they flung him back into his chair. He took another painful breath. He was quite sure he had a cracked rib.

"New starship technology is lucrative," Boz explained. "This Ambassador Class starship is unlike anything anyone has seen before, and here you are with an invitation to take a look at the nice little gadgets and stuff. The Syndicate has tried for years to get people in to get at that stuff and Starfleet Security has been tenacious. The Vaults of Ferenginar are more accessible than Starfleet tech."

"What is Ferenginar?"

Grel moved to strike Luther but Boz shook his head quickly. The Andorian stepped back.

"You're going to document some of that new tech," Boz continued. "Most particularly the propulsion system. I want full scans of everything, and I mean everything. In return for the scans, you walk away debt free and alive."

"No," Luther said. Ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth and he shook his head. "I won't do that."

Boz sighed and he shook his head slightly. The cold metal nozzle of a Klingon disruptor was pressed against his cheek.

"You should know something, Luther," Boz said. His voice had ice to it now and he had a severe look on his cherubic face that made Luther give pause. He bent down, and he looked into Luther's eyes.

"Glomus has stopped feeding his fish."

That made Luther pause. The image of a glass pool filled with hundred of vicious, meat eating fish came to mind. Standing at the side was Glomus who was dropping strips of meat into the bubbling pool.

 _"_ _If you don't pay me, Mister Stahl. I feed you to my fish."_

The caveat had also included that Luther be alive long enough to see some of the feeding.

"I'm a Starfleet officer," Luther pleaded.

"You were," Boz said. He looked past Luther's shoulder. "That's why I made arrangements."

Something touched Luther's leg. He looked down and he saw a cat brushing up against him. It was a silver tabby cat with grey and black highlights. Looking up at him the cat tilted it's head to one side and it let out a plaintive mew. Deciding that Luther was of no interest, it turned and it sniffed at a pistachio.

"Arwen," a voice called out. "Come here."

Luther looked over his shoulder. An Orion female was standing at the doorway. Slim, short, but muscular in a form sitting shirt, slacks, and boots she was gorgeous. Her raven's black hair was cut short around her shoulders and she wore make-up that accentuated her green hued skin. Though dressed in fine clothes she looked as if she were someone who was accustomed to action. She entered the room, and she picked up the cat. Finally acknowledging Luther, she sniffed.

"So that's him?"

"Yes, Verrana," Box said with a note of respect.

The Orion, Verrana, looked around the room. She petted the cat which seemed perfectly at ease in her arms. "I hope our accommodations on the _Bonaventure_ are better than this dump."

"I am sure they will be," Boz answered.

"Wait a second," Luther said as he realized what was being discussed. "You mean that she is going with me?"

The invitation for the _Bonaventure's_ launch was dropped onto Luther's lap.

"It says Luther Stahl and guest," Boz said. "Verrana is going with you to make sure you do what is right. Seeing that you have an eye for pretty females, you two will fit in well."

Luther watched as Verrana walked over to the sofa. She touched the suit from Williamsons and she nodded. "It's a start. I'll have to get something nice to wear. Are you allergic to cats, Luther?""

"Now that I am aware of."

"I'll take that as a no," Verrana said. She leveled her eyes at Luther. "You just be yourself, and do what you need to do, but you need to understand one thing…. I'm in charge."

"And if I refuse?" Luther asked.

"You won't," Verrana answered. She tilted her head to one side and she gave a smile that was vaguely feral. "I hope Dominic recovers from his cold."

Luther tensed, and he started to stand but he was pushed back down in the chair. The air in room was already tense, but it took a much more sinister feeling.

It was Boz that saw the blood drain from Luther's face.

"You were warned about dealing with the Orion's, Luther," he warned. "Now you have one of their assassin's keeping an eye on you. Be smart. Do what is right."


	25. Enro Jaxa pt 5

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Enro Jaxa pt 5

by illusionna

 **Lantin Ri's cottage**

 **Janitza Village, Dahkur, Bajor**

Boredom brought Katrys home, when Saka's baby refused to enter the world in a timely fashion. While the baby and his mother were doing fine, the announcement that he or she was about to arrive was premature. However, now that Ri was at Sito's house, there was no reason for him to come back to his, and there was no reason for Katrys to stay. She would have to wait outside, not being a family member, she was not allowed in the house during the birthing process. While waiting was one of Katrys' fortes, the sounds of Sito's geese, the insects about her part of the valley, and the droning of those inside had grown tiresome.

The standard hour walk home was calming, with its constant change of sounds due to the difference in where she was in the valley. The wind carried the chirping of insects and birds from different directions, echoing off of different mountainous surfaces, until the very familiar noises of Ri's home hit her ears.

The fanged-gander greeted her in his normal fashion, with a deep crackling sound, and clamping of his beak together, the two large fangs on top clacking as he closed it. "You know," she told him, "you shouldn't snap at the hand that feeds you. It might not be inclined to feed you any longer." He obviously did not believe her, for he continued to squack at her until she threw cracked desert grain at the flock.

She had been able to discern several of the vocalizations of the geese, from "feed me," to "get off me, you over-horned pervert," to "do that again, I'll bite your beak off." And she'd gotten very familiar with, "You are my wife/whipping girl, do as I say!"

A thought occurred to her, and she laughed and sat down on the ground, watching them eat. The got'ha came up to her, sitting at her side, so that she put her arm around it. "If my family could see me now, they wouldn't believe it!" The got'ha panted at her side, watching the geese eat. "I'm a farm girl!"

The fanged-gander looked up, and seeing the got'ha at Katrys' side, it made a dash toward her. With a loud hiss, it bolted at the got'ha, who ran from his spot with a whine. The gander flapped its wings with a sqwak, giving Katrys a glare, before going back to the grain.

Standing up, Katrys shook her head. "If you're not careful, I'm going to eat you for Christmas dinner. Come December 25th on Earth, you'll end up on my table."

How long had it been since she'd had a Christmas dinner? Four years? Five years? A sudden wave of nostlgia hit her, as an image of one of the many Christmases spent at The Chateau came to mind, with little children around a decorated tree, tearing open gifts and squeals of delight. None of them hers, but part of her 'extended family'. A familiar cold draped her shoulders, as the phantom of a life that was no longer to be hers materialized in her mind. The memory of she and Vril, in front of the large fireplace, replaced her surroundings for split second. She lay nestled in his side, his arm wrapped about her protectively, the two of them speaking softly in Kolari, which meant no one else was about.

She loved Kolari. It was her favorite language, filled with double meanings, ambiguities, intentionally vague words and interpretations that depended on context. There were no single words for 'yes' or 'no', but were instead qualified as, for example, 'yes, if...' and 'no, but...'. It was said to be an excellent debating language, though with no direct answers. It was well-suited for concealing motive and meaning, and Orions were a master at that aspect of their linguistics.

It was also a good swearing language. It had a sophisticated cursing case that could be used to deliver delicate and elaborate insults in ambiguous terms. Sometimes, they were even in verse and counted as works of art—a critics dream. Except that Kolari was rarely learned by other races, as the Orions themselves tended to learn the language of others.

Chances were she would never speak the language again, even if she left Bajor.

She heard the transport drive up to the port where Ri kept it, just below the hill. The golden grass swayed as the breeze caressed the mound of the hill. The got'ha, already close to the path, fled down it to meet the doctor, Katrys followed him.

She watched Ri walk up toward the house and her, and again the thought came to her...even if she left Bajor...Ri looked rugged, his dark blonde hair tousled, square jaw and high cheekbones shadowed in the evening light. He was classically Bajora, not particularly tall or broad by human standards, his eyes a little bit too large to be human, his brow ridges giving him a perpetual expression of either anger or confusion, depending on how the light played on his features.

He blinked his big, Bajoran eyes slowly and smiled as he approached her. "That baby is one stubborn little boy," he chuckled.

She put her arms about him as he approached her, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "She had a boy?"

"She did," he confirmed, nodding. "Healthy as his mother." He held her in an embrace, gazing down at her softly. "And as tenacious."

"You look tired," she said gently, as a breeze caressed the spaces between them. It was warm, laced with cool strands, indicating the change of the season. It swirled about them as it passed, changing the temperature of their bodies in certain spots, but not in others, before passing by to do the same to the trees and the golden grass on the sides of the mountain.

"Waiting is tiring work," he replied. He paused, before asking, "How did you get home?"

She smiled. "I walked."

"How long have you been gone," he asked, "from Sito's house?" He stroked her bare shoulder, the gossamer fabric of her gown fluttering about their legs in the autumn wind.

"Two hours, maybe," she said. "Not very long." The got'ha yapped about them.

"I'm sorry you had to stay outside," he said, squeezing her slightly. "I thought grandmother would let you-"

"It doesn't matter," she said, cutting him off. She didn't need to have her feelings hurt by thinking about that. "The walk home was nice. And the gander and I had a good conversation."

"Oh?" Ri laughed. "You told him he'd become dinner at Saka's baby's naming ceremony if he didn't listen?"

"Something like that," she murmured.

He released her with one arm and stroked a strand of her long, strawberry blonde hair from her face a the sun sank down below the mountain line. "You look lovely in this light," he said lowly.

She chuckled. "I could say the same about you." She felt warm and safe, despite the winter hinted zephyr.

"I don't feel lovely," he said. "I feel utterly exhausted." He leaned down to kiss her on the lips, his hand moving gently across her shoulders.

A life that was no longer to be hers, desires never to be fulfilled, flashed in her mind again, and then faded, like the memory it was. Even if she left Bajor….If she went back to serve on a starship, or if she went back to Earth, she would still not have the life that she thought she'd have for years. No husband, no children, no family of her own. Only a plethora of accolades that couldn't love her back. Perhaps that was her lot in life.

 _I think I could be...content...here,_ she thought, her lips still on Ri's. She wrapped her arms about him and closed her eyes. _I think I could be content here._


End file.
